space

like feeling alone,
like running water,
grainy and sweet like
a spoonful of aged honey.
do you like me?

moonlit skin and all,
insides spotted with craters
like Jupiter’s imaginary suns.
I am no flaxen-haired Aphrodite,
I am not waiting
for anyone.

like craving softness,
like empty promises,
wonderful and bitter like
blackberry jam.
do you see me?

how can I be so vacant
yet so full:
a daughter of space,
beautiful and dark.

—By Zoe Jones