Not The Light of The Moon

Dreamcatcher, can’t catch the threads of her hair

or the angry and distant look in her eye.

The lines drawn to paradise and sweetness

are death and life their on her thigh.

In my bed, dreams come unbidden, the desire

to be cut by her wire wings, sweet pain!

The dark eyes that are not the light of the moon,

or the washed out color of a winter rain.

Just a trinket, no magic, nothing can stop the dreams.

What you want is The Devil whispering in your ear.

Dream to dream, lust to lust, something to love

as the sun grows colder and stars dimmer every year.


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