Slowly embracing the moon, was the sky
with his arms to encircle it.
Surrounding worlds staring back at him
jealous of spaces bigger than them,
perfectly fitting into the sky's eyes
while they contemplate his smile
from a spot, as a flaw.
Invisible, untouchable,
outcasted, yet unbreakable:
outsiders of a tablespoon,
and tied up with glue.
He never noticed how they lined up on his collarbone.
(They tricked him, she saved him.)
He never heard a whisper, or felt their angry sighs.
(The necklace of the wicked was ripped away from him.)
There, the moon rests against the sky,
breathes through his chest
too bright to be unseen,
too bright to be forgotten.
Clouds have covered the lovers
while midnight still is smiling,
far from where jealousy lies.
The sky bent like a dimple
though it soon would have become flat,
and a-layered,
as a paper dream.
