I need the moon to stay
when the sun is done praying,
filtering through pages of ink,
teaching men how to read.
You see.
The moon,
even though I hate to say it,
reminds me of you.
The crescent shape,
curt against ink,
taught me kindness at the
bottom of liquid love.
Breakwater, my love!
I have cried over you so many times
my tears are the sea
yet you are still a cavernous moon.
This ache in my heart
I first felt, has not left.
You used to be mine.
Always the night
and you come
hand in hand.
But now I am
lonely. The sky is dark with
clouds I cannot read. I only
hope for words to break
this rust over my chest.
I will not let love wake me up in the morning
because if you could leave like carnage,
then I could fall asleep by the side of the road
drunk as hell, my vision wasted on
a regrettable night,
but still,
not quite like you.
How could I call you the moon?
When I searched and found no sun in my time.
How could I belong to you?
When every night passes for a new sky.
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