The Butter-Cup:

Drunken stars you hide the darkest fears,

And upon those you form your love-embalmed constellations,

May star-cast be just a drop of water,

Soaked upon my eyes like the brown embers of cocoa beans,

Crushed so they may fill them with their corduroy shines,

Hurled against the notion of frightful disengaging supernovas,

I would snore and sink in my mind that I might not find a better embrace,

No stitch or mend could powder my eyes in new embers,

Yet the rocks on the hill,

Thrust towards the damnation of purple edged seas,

Clashed themselves till ember struck corduroy,

In the hands of the deserted earth that remained after space consumed heaven,

Her shine began to stamp in my cocoa bean eyes,

Rejecting star as star and heart as heart,

The blood upon the rawness of human-kind,

Found distant to dispersed stardust,

A fog among hell had clouded the horizon of unknowing forever,

Above the heavens and the hellish fog she stood,

A shooting-star piercing damnation as ember settled to earth,

In-hair, a butter-cup,

Tangled around her ear,

To perhaps hear a glimpse of personified lightening,

It was in that moment that embrace and ember, heaven and earth, and all the damning

crescendos of fire-cast and dull feeling,

Reduced to sanctuary,

And while I stood holding living star-light in my arms,

I uttered the words:

Lauren Kurtz will you go to Prom with me?