My stomach churns and I lose a few breaths,
suffocating silently in this divine obsidian
as the stars themselves dance upon a sky
where a moon dangles just out of reach.

I fumble with my words, stumble with my steps.
You have patient ears and gentle hands,
but I suffer in cowardice and drink my words away.

I have spent an entire lifetime rehearsing
the art of destroying a perfect moment.
I sigh and watch the stars fall to the dirt,
and the moon impatiently shatters in frustration.