I submit in honesty
shine in places I shouldn't
seventeen with a past
to burn up in flames
where benighted/benign
dull light clears as the
consonant to winter, star
speckled air.
Movement of heightened
dancers, fangs of music
clasped by vintage radio
from your impala,
my hands are where your
thigh is and I swear
this is what moonlight is for.
My skin will burn off my bones
in your presence and
leave nothing but golden remains
