henna is poetry

I marked her arms,
orange glow and paste-green,
the ghost of other flowers left behind.

/\/\/\

Ink on skin, words against breast,
I became a book of history,
a memoir of myself.

:     :     :   :   :   ::   :::

lost in space

you were light-years behind me
and when I turned,
to return,
you were already gone



i spin, waiting,
and forget myself
amidst stars



you eclipsed my path
and left me
for other darknesses



i came to be
in massive fires of gas
and i remember
every burning touch

:     :     :   :   :   ::   :::