Am I beating for the both of us?
Pushing your blood as well as mine?
You are infinite in yourself.
I will not hold you in the palm of my hand,
For fear of you slipping through my fingers.
I lay you on my chest.
Hear this heart that lies beneath you.
Just as the moon paints my window,
Venus brushes your cheek-
and s i g h s with the contour of your bone.
I feel as though I am nothing,
But still I cast a shadow.
Is the shadow of a ghost, not a ghost itself?
I am smoke.
Never to be brushed by gods.
Never to be painted by a satellite.
But I am smoke.
And will carry you as high as your flame burns and bids me to.