Poezja

Starting a crush,
on the baby face moon.
Only half-sinned
by staying quiet.

Think straight.
If you don't spell out,
you will snap―
like the fallen blue angel.

Falling in arms. Space
was small. Ars poetica―
faulted. You feel―
luggage was heavy.

For a griever, it was
a long walk. In trance a
city lifts your pyre.
You refuse to burn alive.

Calling names in sleep.