Is the rain-beat pulse
At my wrist,
At my throat,
The animating ghost my body is cage for;
A cat's whisker
Searching in the dark for your hand.
If I had golden eyes,
If I were sandalwood incense burning
I would move through the stars like silver grasses;
I would borrow moonlight for my coat,
To make myself beautiful
So that you would love the very skies
I fall from.
Is the trees at night
Whose hard embrace holds me,
Whose canopy carries my almost-human cry,
That my desire would ever be haven for
A touch returned
That can never be mine.
Using two of Shawna's Monday Melting words, "jaguar" and "incense."