Shooting stars fare well in the moonlit aura of some incessant…broad.

Encapsulated wouldnt be the word,
Evoking…No. Only negative commentaries on that front.

Oh but how, such damsels, such dames that none of them can seem to fit as well here.

One more and one more and slowly
the constellations begin to form and

Ive made my cosmos of empty love.
Star dust, Ma Cherie...

Pixelated lust fall'n over concrete waterfalls.
Granulated moments of barely glowing skin.

Youve dulled, dear.
Just like the others.
-P.S.