Fire of the moon,
Blessedly under zoom.

Borne of a gloomy tank, I swim —
Levelling up in a swollen cartoon room—

Animated—
Suspended.

Germinating —
Emblazed a brazen, shapeshifting mermaid.

A blade in her ribcage,
made to break the membrane.

Defenseless;
relentless.

Already making moves —
the kicks are pain and proof.

A wish sings joy,
naked, divine truth.

Thriving off what's consumed,
breath passing through the gills.

In these dark recesses, protected from my reflections —
she’s deflected the chills.

Do our part. Heal, out of a natural will.

Not a speck of dust, no need for a broom —
just the trust, the bloom,
the warmth: a watery tomb.

Odds like the lottery,
opened up to possibilities —

Possibly.

Absorbing the nutrients,
the wonder and the superstition.

Cells: divisions, decisions, religion.
No incision — but just "maybe a few stitches."

Fated to be insulated, yet I am one of the living.

You’re one that keeps on giving,
and I’m one that takes —

shakes, shapes and breaks,
heart-shaped earthquakes.

Your creation —
as if there is no ceiling.

No sky.
I’m not sly, cunning, or tried —
not yet robust with feeling.

A final thrust —
eruption — out-chucked —

to the bust,
and I trust I’ll be given a meal. 
And the love.

But for now I’m just one in a million —
or maybe it’s a billion, or maybe — God willin' —

We’ll find a way,
a time of day,
galaxy gaze, and rejoice —
star stealin’.