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.