There is a half-moon, just a sliver,
embedded in the flesh of my palm..
It follows me throughout the day, silently.
Even when it heals, the mark
will remain, insidious..
The pain of it-- the shock,
the hurt of seeing you, seeing you
seeing me, and watching as
you left.
That stays behind.
Bonfires and beers can't save the world,
but how I wish they could.