To Petrarch

Within my divinity, he is haunted
How can he know, how his love consumes
Like english ivy—invasive, unwanted
I rule his heart from my celestial tomb

A harp that thunders, his lyrics rumble
His thunderstorm—his love corrodes
And with each breath, my beauty crumbles,
I am no angel, belong to no ode

No golden glows, no dreams enclosed
He watches me; his love that rusts
With medusa’s eyes, my statue posed
I am ceramic: of clay and glue and dust.

His vastness—immortality—unknown
As I burn, feel, collect; on my own.

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