Let me put on a show for you…
The Poetry Brothel’s babydoll with a butcher knife—
One May night many years ago, a star was on course for elsewhere but due north never worked cross-cosmos. The star shot white-hot, falling into the belly of a butcher’s wife. For nine months, the butcher’s wife burned supernova. While the butcher handled knives to wager death against life, his wife placed a bet on life in the face of death. The fever almost took mother and child both, but on a frozen day, the heat gave way. The butcher’s daughter screamed her first breath and they called her Lux for the light that came out of her lungs.
For a price, you can taste the star that died to make her.