Marilyn died for our sins

 
 
in her own words, & out of grace more so than glamour,
she revealed that her sinning did not make her a devil,
& her not sinning did not make her an angel.
 
she began as a small spark, & worked very hard to grow
to a candle flame; but there were moments when she was
lightning, & the stars took notice.
 
earth-bound angel, fashioned for wet dreams, blonde & blue.
flamboyant temptress – within her beat the heart of lonely  
Norma Jean, who begged to be loved. but a man can’t hold  
the delicate things, nor make captive of such beauty.
 
in darkened theatres, a pearlescent screen assured us that
some like it hot. it defined us, among common ball-players  
& princes of fleeting royalty. she was reduced to an object,  
of lust that warmed our sullen nights.
 
but the world was too boisterous,  
& the joy she longed for, too elusive –
she could not stay.
 
we didn’t love her enough…