I didn't have time
to look at the moon that morning.
But I heard that she had never shone so bright.
A crescent call, come hither to her Venus
just before the dying of her light.
Now the sun declines
to pick apart this darkness
that layers like laments
on a lover's tongue.
and still as a tideless ocean,
endless as the song
I wish I'd sung
pretending to be Venus.
A disaster of a poem for a special Wednesday edition of Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads.
Note: The disaster I'm trying to depict here is the dying of the moon and sun. I had this up for a bit yesterday, but I was really unhappy with it, so I took it down. I reworked the first stanza; hopefully the whole thing is a little better. Anyway, it's either this or a death of a pretty flower haiku.