The moon self-eclipses,
hiding her battered old face
in stygian lunacy.
Below,
we bounce light in different directions
like prisms
hanging in the window of a curiosity shop.
In strobing shadows, we grin
lasciviously-
dangling, drooling shrunken heads
on red strings of fate.
It hardly matters.
From a distance our oddities are almost...
endearing.
You are welcome in my bubble,
room for two.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
The moon self-eclipses,
hiding her battered old face
in stygian lunacy.
Below,
we bounce light in different directions
like prisms
hanging in the window of a curiosity shop.
In strobing shadows, we grin
lasciviously-
dangling, drooling shrunken heads
on red strings of fate.
It hardly matters.
From a distance our oddities are almost...
endearing.
You are welcome in my bubble,
room for two.
