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The Moon Has Nothing To Say To Me Tonight
And neither would your
fingertips when they graze
the crease of my spine under
your bed-sheets, vinyl,
just like the carpet in the
corridor next to your
roommate’s study in
your new apartment
And the walls in your
bedroom would have
nothing to say to the
squeaky mattress at
midnight, a very timid
girl and her philanderer,
a tryst, a one-night stand,
a quiet reminder that I will
not find love here
And you would have
nothing to say to me
distant and unconcerned
and lonely and precious
like a moon flower you
bloom brightly at dusk
and are gone by the morning.
