sous la lune
O moon;
honey hunt,
hounds baying
at the empty
frost, the beach
broken into
hot rhymes from
the debris of
destruction;
empty sections
of foreign
countries washed
ashore; someone
else's hot moon,
the steam
from our breaths
fogs up the
bathroom mirror
we cannot see
ourselves anymore,
just the illusion of
white from the reflection
of another new moon.