An orb of light.

An illuminated face,

night’s silent gift

speckles the canvas of space.

Dead are the stars —

their shine still remains,

surrounded by darkness,

untainted,

unscathed

are its rays.

A painted white dot,

hot as the sun.

A bird’s sweet singing,

drawing me in with its hum.

Its voice pulls me closer.

I choose not to resist.

Warmer.

Warmer.

Like a drowning man,

I persist.

Hotter.

Hotter.

The orb has grown.

I can feel my body ripping —

a dress unsown.