The Goddess in spite of herself

by Tannen Dell

She was crafted with eyes
like sapphire galaxies
plucked from the shim'ring
pedestals of the seven,
polished by the electric
gravity of her smile.

Her quintessence
is not beautiful
No
It is the point of origin
Of a thousand fuchsia
snowflakes
Ground together
By the ever locking,
wound up pellucid
atmospheres her cortex
Constructed as a sort of mask,
a net to keep out the many
and allow a concentrated
Few
vivified Eagle Novas
within her multiplicative solitude

And here I hover
A humming phoenix
My second to last evolution
I'll whisper my forked tongue
Through her attention
Press my haphazard fangs
To the collar of her cloak
And glide the fiery feathers
in my claws
across her shadow.
Sand turns to molten glass

The seven tell me,
they tell me to try
they say to "fight for it."
Ignore the cold
that will encompass
the alpha and omega
of all things as I
make this
 final
sojourn
to the origins
of her sapphire eyes.