Tonight, I’ll write for you something beautiful from the corners in which you’ve flung me. My lion-heart is hungry, devouring light-lidded men who dreamt of galaxies. This nucleosynthesis: we are stars and dust, and I am humbled, proud. These secrets are optimistic. This sacrifice: I am offering you the worst and best of me. I’ve forgotten what beauty is, tonight. My wounds are old. Finally, they’re healing and all I can offer is twenty-six sharp letters. I pray they’ll be gentle enough for you.
