Starfish
Starfish turning slowly round in the breeze. I place my hands near your warmth Afraid of burning them.
You lay your hands on me,
Burning me.
From stars we're born,
To stars we die.
Wish I may, wish I might.
Prolong this moment in your light.
Starfish crucified on a child's pinwheel.
Mike Stone
SourceLicence:CC BY-ND 4.0