She listens to Jazz in the morning &
has a bad habit of lighting up a cigarette
Even when she doesn't want one.
She's the Sun, you see,
Everything circles around her.
But I don't believe she knows,
That when she holds out her hands
My whole Universe implodes.
The Moon wanes.
The wax melts,
Dripping to the ground.
You hold your head to her chest
For that reverberating sound
Of stars being born
In the vast bitterness of space.