From the shadows I see no stars,

a trembling cigarette light draws

the cruelty of the rock

over this darkened landscape.

A mistress of moonlight

tempts like an eclipse;

the most unhappy fantasy…

A black skinned moonbeam

gravitating towards headlights,

like a backstreet satellite

in orbit to an empty sin.

 

From the shadows I see no stars,

as the nighttime horizon

cuts the count of the clock,

her heart’s numbness grows

like evening shadows

reaching out to the night.

A female constellation

of wounds, a moonlit sun

craving her dusky relief,

when the sadness swells up

to fill the void.