Flying Saucers

If these extraterrestrial beings

You all speak of

Droned down their ellipsoidal

Space ships to extra

Terrestrial turf, although kindred,

I would not go

Not because I was made of this love

That spans and sprawls across lineage,

Generational tenderness and smudging

Skin against skin that

You all speak of

That would make me want to stay.

Because I was not made of this love

Which already makes me alien smudging my

Skin against skin

My own,

That will never be mine

Because it was never theirs and

Daughter is synonymous to all

Encompassing, fringing frilly, and

Droning the absent space of

What cannot, because it is

Already in empty saucers of

What did not

Could not

Brim over,

Overflow in love