Pierced by a willow spear, the marshmallow blisters; bemoans
its heated rush towards metamorphosis. A Phoenix, unborn,
the pink skin ruptures, sloughs off to flare briefly; returns
to the ashen dreams of a ghost gum. Freedom dies
with your smile and I find myself colder; wishing to stand beside you.
Always. But that would betray wings as yet unfurled.
Overhead, the cross hangs low. Four nimbus globes dance below,
across a lady’s mercurial skin. Your hand withdraws to discover
a soft mallow heart, licked by the inner flame. Released.
Framed in that introspective light I see you hurtling forward,
a stellar memory of lost radiance and I wish to tell you:
it’s the novas that define us.
– Ryan Stone