by Sylvia Stout

O bitter, blanketed, blackened stars-

Frigid, forlorn, and charred despite

The icy cold- subsumed by night…


O burning ball of

Noxious fire

Writhing beneath a halo

Of poisoned light


Kiss me like Icarus,

Hungry for the burning bliss,

The blaze of the sun’s tongue,

Kiss me so I, too, can sleep

With a mouthful of salt-

No more time to keep…


If it means soaring high

Rather than remaining

Etherized upon your table

If you’re able,

that is…

to spare a kiss

in times like these-

I’d cherish to be free.