her solitude was powerful
like the moon commanding the sea


I’ve danced nakedly in the light of the moon,
basking in the illusion that I’ve created for myself.
My skin is marble, milky and smoothed after
years of exposure to the elements,
now taken in to be used as a decoration
for a life it’s not really a part of.

They say the grass is greener on the other side,
but your grass would be just as green if you could
just remember to turn on the sprinklers. 

Painted Faces on Parade

I am breathless with the effort of this masquerade.

I drink in the moon and hide from the sun,
pretending I never did need to breathe.

Death-masked daydreams skitter before reddened
eyelids, throwing a lavender fantasy into sharp relief.

I can bury myself in a sex-scented reverie, but
I’ll still be trying to burrow into the blackened earth. 

A pale kiss never could solidify this illusion.