(no subject)

Venus

Throat aching from the sight of you.

A city in the distance
domed, fluted, incoherent blur
of muted light from detached stars
whose glow approaches the edge of darkness
As if to dip their feet in the cold
silence before withdrawing,
shuddering into flinty discontent.

If only
I could map out the lines of your jaw with my finger
I would finger the short hair behind your ear
I should know how to say

the light is you.