The burning of heart,
One that I’ve come to know
Am I a less of a monster
Than those from below?
As I babble tongue-twisters
That sounds like an ode
“Oh, Little Star,
Won’t you twinkle above…”
Apollo looked back,
Daphne’s arms turned to bark,
As what once felt like palms
Became ends of a branch.
I’ll gather her stems. a
Coal from this hell.
I’ll make
Pencil and paper, and
You’ll read someday:
“If that is your will,
If your heart fears my love,
Won’t you come flip the patty of
My guilt on the stove?
Could you
Fall down from grace,
So I won’t feel alone?
Oh, to feel your handed graze
From heavens above.”
