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think twice before you say, stargirl;
you may not be ready.
her name slurs from the lips of broken souls,
a question that tastes likes champagne in their mouths
a burning fire to warm their numb, blue fingers.

a smell, familiar and nostalgic;
like rain and mother’s old perfume,
like fresh linen and vanilla.

a smell you know, but the names are smoke in the air
one wave and

a “child of the stars”.
they call her such disastrous names
place her on a pedestal like a god.
she sits as they chant names.

they do not understand why she is here,
on earth when she should be in space?
“call NASA, we have a surprise for them!” they say.
a rumour that echos like the bass in a song

they once believed that angels didn’t exist.
how could they fathom to say that
when she stands in front of them
an angel of highest being.

though she has more names than anyone
everyone knows her by one,
just one glance and her name is upon you like water from a baptism.

she is a spiritual ritual.
dance around the sunflowers at dusk and
you’ll hear her voice on the breeze,
you’ll see through her eyes.

her name is taffy in your mouth.
you can’t stop chewing
rolling it over and over
dissecting it,
tongue and teeth gnashing.

it rolls off your tongue in confused curiosity.
the swish of her skirt surrounds you
the smell of desert sage and paint fills your nose
there are stars in your eyes
then her sweet, melodic voice is in your ears
and your world is turned upside down.