She drifts through midnight's isotope ballet,
Her veins like vials of captured lightning,
A slow-bloom wilt in cobalt display—
Twelve-point-three years, her fire's tightening.
The Radium Girls still waltz in lead,
Their bones a slow-rot chandelier,
While she, half-goddess, half-undead,
Paints time in streaks of chained veneer.
"Come kiss my glow," her lips imply,
"But mind the teeth that bite through years—
I'll light your way, then watch you die,
We're all just borrowed chandeliers."
Her hands drip slow beta-ray sonnets,
Each touch rewrites your carbon script,
You beg to stay—she laughs "Don't con it,
Even stars lose hold and slip."
The barstools creak with quantum weight,
The jukebox hums a neutron tune,
She sips her drink of liquid fate—
One part dusk, three parts unknown.
"They sealed me safe in crystal prisons,
But darling—light was made to roam,
Press close and taste my slow-soft fission,
All love's a half-life heading home."
At last you see her truest art:
Not how she shines, but how she fades—
A supernova's broken heart
Wrapped in a slowed life's ongoin' parade.
