Scissors lain low-
the gold, golden glow
with you and me
and our running blood;
the cost of saving a heart
rammed through the sun.
Through me and further through you
I slip the blade and draw the truth.
Surely all the claims we’ve made
will never hold beyond the break.
So gone is the ocean,
where once the gods bathed.
For Aphrodites, Mars,
and Posiedon’s water fame.
Come is the cold –
the silent, shaking bones
between you and I
and our sharp, stunted growth.
At the wiry, shining stars
where once love held its own.
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