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The notes build up deep within you

burning at your core

snaking through your veins until your skin hums red-hot with fire.

They say the sun is hottest

when you are just barely out of reach.

It is there you shall ignite.

But if I managed

to slip past your blistering corona

past the halo of light that surrounds you -

and stroke your scorching surface

would I find the right

to burn with you?

And maybe

I could learn to play you

like the instrument you are.

Helios, god of the sun,

your surface shudders with sound,

melodious vibrations

unfit for such ears as mine.

Yet still I wonder what you would sound like

if my hands would not sear to touch you

when I reached for your strings, your keys?

But love, you've never needed me, in order to sing.

You're a blazing sun and

I'm a winter rain.

But still your body fits mine

like a missing puzzle piece,

even if the picture you make

is of string theory,

every strand infinitesimal, but together,

a cosmic symphony.

and my image is of love-letters,
edges curled like petals,

weeping dew.

My rain could never quench you

but still I long to let your touch

evaporate my tears to nothing.

Gravity is not the earth pulling us down toward it,

but space, pushing us away.

Yet I too am made of dead stars;

the dust of ancient suns

lifts from my skin and glitters

in the light that shines about you.

And in that dust could you find proof

that my skin and yours could be one?

Look close and you will see:

my double-helix

encoded cryptic verses, whispering:

once, my essence dwelt in distant stars.

And I could be the thrumming heartbeat ,

to keep black holes from your light.