Lunar Lady
dressed in silk swimming over
her curvature like early morning
frost: a shiver melting in the tepid
rising sun (her arms outstretched
to meet it). nocturnal: she drifts in
dark hours, drags her fingers through
shadows to stir the silhouettes of
the insomniacs, the romantics, the
wanderers, dripping a little dream of
her shape, her smile into the creases
of their eyes. lingering, their gazes
seek her, blindly feeling over the
crescent of her spine. she slips
through their hands at the speed
of light, soundless, sinking in her
orbit. an embroidery of pearls:
outside the atmosphere, her tears
have frozen to her dress. her voice is
thin and pale, anchored deep in her
driftwood lungs (washed ashore by
the wake of ships); as their eyelids
seal, they hear her whisper in
soporific song: don't forget me.