A ~ Taming the comet

I came in from the outside as if
I were fresh from the conjurer's ottoman
A great golden bruise at my shoulder
and both my knees ruby like scorched earth

I'd pulled a muscle down my right leg
so I walked with an elegant limp
My lips were wet with purple blood
I was in my ballgown and boots

Well you leapt up backward
from your pretty, shapely, scented candles and asked,
"What on earth have you done to yourself?"
I told you I'd tried to tame the comet

I had wanted to fulfil your romantic vision
of men with rounded girder arms
mountainous bodies and unmarked faces
Fair soldiers and narrow-lipped poets

I'd tried to keep to the rules
I'd tried not to suffer erosion at my own hands
The task was daunting if not impossible
I'd tried to keep to the rules

but that you are the earth to my moon's fandango
The ice had burned my flesh husk
where all your teachings had been tattooed
Now the skin is taught around the scabs

In the candlemaker's poetic aroma
you touched all the scabs with your
fingers of wax, and recoiled
at the sight of my face

for the wind had since changed beneath Rigel
and preserved my lustful stare
My sore eyes were fixed to your brisket
so I'd carved myself a new smile

and wore dark glasses
You poured me a teacup of wine