You were the moon,
the fourth phase of darkness,
silver hope slivered
in feasts of swimming stars.

Galaxies fade upon themselves,
new planets created in brief
cacophonies of flesh, pinning desire
beneath thick, angel arms
before washing clean
from an unwilling womb.

This fragmented memory of dreams
we call living
spins sense from our consciousness.

I see prison bars, still.

She stands, listens to rumbles
of far-off fantasies roll
over her body like baptisms,
voiding her lilac mind of care.

Paper lips;
pale crescent sandbars
lying at the edge of deep oceans.

Eternal waters of praise
dredged clear of truth,
I wish to swim
but there is no glory here.

Only the frailty of handicap,
wherein I find dark comfort
beneath blankets of lies
buttered with belief.