look at the night sky.
see how the stars move,
and the moon changes.

growing and shedding.
cyclical
and never stagnant.

i want to be the same.
moving
and growing.

i am trying to mimic the moon.
but how can someone so limited,
achieve such growth?

how can i endure the loss
and still wait for the bloom?

          Like the rounded tip
of God's clipped big toenail
     is late August's moon.

Black rose trapped in a cage of white pages...

Like the white waning moon marooned in a black winter sky!

Your crescent moon shape
fits so seamless around me

Nighttime falls and I seek
the boney knuckle wrapped
around my chest

In the silvery cityscape, silence
permeates and I basque in
your peace and sleep talk

Your power over me in passivity
absorbed in the perceived
desire you have for me

Dark, starry nights, early mornings
in which your body, once pressed
with such urgency against mine

became lost in the sensation of
a nervous, covetous warmth

There no longer exists this
sensation, as persistent waning
sent once thunderous waves
into soft rippling and retreat.