She was my light, part sun
she was my dark, a waning crescent moon
the old moon before dawn breaks
showing that after, every dusk
comes a new devouring dawn
an awakening.

I take to my wrists, silver ribbons
scars from past endeavours to match
the heavens above, hell below
covered in ink, to the left a sun
to the right, a moon, both partly shaded
each surrounded by stars.

I draw my wrists together, moon and sun
perfect sync, married faultlessly
a mirage of peace, peace I crave so deeply
lovers, marital ties, bonded daily,
as human love, mirrored, a solar great father
a luna great mother.

Legends of Persia, finding their children,
among the stars of luna, sol solis
traditions of Greece, distinguish family
children of the sun, children of the moon
and on earth they did once inhabit,
now silent, skies above us we see.

Reading, the inked moon as her mind,
emotions,
the sun her energy, vitality,
as she projects herself, onto this world.

A world in which I am the dreamer, this is a fable, a delusion, fantasy, make believe

I rub my wrists together, with rigor
by magic, I see the ink lift, forming
black smoke, merging,
head tilted, moon and sun marry
into the sky.

I'm just playing another game, in this lovesick mentality

© Sia Jane