after ali novak.
Perhaps you stole my breath (you stole my heart)
when I, in grieving’s grace, was wandering
and we should not have touched right at the start
but with a kiss you left me pondering
the elegance of stars, God’s great machine
that pulls the heavens into perfect shape,
the carbon of your body, like a dream
that carries me away, a sweet escape
from every tear I shed, the grief I know;
you carried me above my body’s weight
and washed away the weary from my bones
rewriting light into my bitter fate.
Love comes in many shapes: you gave me all
and smirked, assured, as you watched me fall.