the moon rose slow,
sat low
enough
to lick
like the sugary sweet honey that lingers on the tip of your spoon.
like the back of a beaten dog, it hung
tired as if lifting its own weight was excess,
maybe seeing another night was too exhausting
because existing was a burden.
the moon sat low enough,
you have to believe that i could almost taste it,
could see the pores on its skin like steam opened them.
But
she wanted to be seen,
hanging back like the coolest kid you know,
all golden and low
beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
PILLOW
Puisiwhen my head hit the PILLOW, i dreamt of words and painted them with letters, hoping to release. hoping to find peace.
