that you call a butterfly
caught between the husks
of your rose and amber
thighs.
And night is the name
of the skin
you’re wrapped in:
I found the moon
they left in your left hand.
My love,
your body is like
a spaceship, your eyes
are satellites.
Last night,
when I opened the cabin door,
when I entered you,
did you hear it?
The song of roots,
the song of bare feet,
the song of the stars.
The stars,
calling us home.
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