heaven ;
my baby is a god,
his ichor seeps into my mortal flesh,
and my weak bones crack when he kisses me with nectar stained lips.
he says he prefers me to ambrosia
with his satin mouth on my neck
and i feel my lungs come back to life
from my deathly humanness.
my baby wraps me in heaven and paints me with sin,
but the immortal are not meant to share beds with the ephemeral,
and planets are not meant to touch fallen stars.