I can see the stars tonight.
The storm clouds scatter at my gaze –
I wish they would linger on.
I wish they wouldn’t bare me so.
I see no blithe rhyme tonight
In the moon’s silent crescent face,
Battered so by naked lust.
I wish they wouldn’t hurt me so.
I can feel the shooting star
Race against my gentle wish.
The air is damp, the scent intense:
I wish I didn’t have to know.
I can hear tomorrow’s regret –
Stoked and slaked, burnt and caked.
But, tonight, it’s just the mud and me.
I wish they would just let me go.
* * *