Crash-landed life she leads.
Holds her heavy heart in blackened hands.
She smiles only when the sun suits:
cool, white, reflecting borrowed light
from those who borrow her arms.
Her knuckles are bruised now.
Her moon-pale face a mask of something
selfless that she calls selfishness. She hurts,
and a crater mars her earth. She orbits, hovers,
wonders in limbo, a satellite.
Her face reflects, in undetected scars,
the sides unlit, the wear of years,
the furrows of water run dry, of tears.
(And I would bandage your beautiful arms,
and shield you in the shadow of an eclipse if I could.)
Not my best work, but I had to stretch myself a bit. If it’s too..florid, my apologies.