888 (Andromedan think she’s human)

Triangles
                  of
                      crystalline galaxies
    encircle
                      the center of her palm

skyrocketing polychromatic clusters onto the naked mural

heaven once slumbered here

              exhaling
                          inspiration
                    and
                          reshaping sorrow

But now she’s unamused of the voodoo she alchemizes

smashing replicas until
                                      the river
                                  in
                    her eyes
                                  confound insecurity

perfecting her magic as if it was an insignificant daughter

Andromedan
                        thinks
                                    she’s human
      unaware
                                    of the divinity her creations summon

                spellbound by the seductive       
        tongue
                    of unfulfillment