Of three things I can only speculate —
Your passion can burn our molecules molten
You have many lovers, too many to count
Beneath your cloak is the splendour of a hundred thousand suns.
Of three more I am absolutely sure —
You swallow us in your enormity
You are a petulant, fickle lover
You conceal yourself with primordial swathes of variegated colours.
Your lovers are all sisters, swarming around you in groups
Swooning and sighing and giggling, trying to peer behind your hoops
But as they come near you your anger suddenly swells
With a roar you send them all away with thunder and storms to pelt.
I have no sisters, and no family to tame my lust
I travel around you alone, and alone I avoid your mistrust
In your ever-changing temperament, I sometimes pierce your shroud
My eyes they may deceive me but there is nothing beneath your clouds.
Could it be you have no soul beneath resplendent colours?
I could not entertain such a thought.
They say you contain all the love the universe has wrought
You were imbued with immense attraction, and thus
You hide yourself from presumptuous lovers, but
If you cloak yourself with noxious clouds
And separate us with nebula rings
I will orbit around your electric storms
For a glimpse of your cloistered soul.
But whether you have a soul
It seems, no one will ever know
So I will continuing orbiting forever
Waiting for your love to show.