baubles
I walk, alone, through your halls hung with globes spun the color of your eyes, a river-blue laced with silver and clouds. I tread your sea-glass carpet, crushing beneath my feet broken blue and green and brown bits of ocean and foam, ruined memories of sailors’ ships and dreams that echo in my blood.
You drape your curtains in gold and silver chains that make diamonds out of sunlight, but leave me naked, a goddess without worshippers, a queen without kingdom, and you tell me with a sweep of your hand across my cheek that nothing is ever perfect except the sky, and that one day it will swallow us.
When the night falls you return to your lair, dragon-hoard, and me. You lead me through your garden, green with leaves, flowered with rubies, sapphires and amethysts glimmering in the moonlight. You kiss me and like fireflies we light the whole world.
But before my body catches fire you let go, retreat to your baubles, and leave me to smolder.
You drape your curtains in gold and silver chains that make diamonds out of sunlight, but leave me naked, a goddess without worshippers, a queen without kingdom, and you tell me with a sweep of your hand across my cheek that nothing is ever perfect except the sky, and that one day it will swallow us.
When the night falls you return to your lair, dragon-hoard, and me. You lead me through your garden, green with leaves, flowered with rubies, sapphires and amethysts glimmering in the moonlight. You kiss me and like fireflies we light the whole world.
But before my body catches fire you let go, retreat to your baubles, and leave me to smolder.