Cactus Spies

I wrote about your cactuses,
And now they are
My spies in your room.

They tell me what you wear
And when you dance,
And what songs you listen to,
so I can hear them in your mind.

If the end of the world is nigh,
Let this love be the measure of
Heaven as a real place.

If not let’s both sleep in
Different rooms tonight,
And light fat green candles
together.

We’ll watch as they burn
Until they pool to the edges
And create decrescent moons
In your heavenly honour.

For this is the beginning
Of your reign as goddess
Of everything left behind.