⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀An orange waning moon snaps a bitter bite
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀out of her eastern climb through her own broken
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀skies. She can’t believe in a love she can’t master.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She lies in her master’s lap. He makes the moon
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀see what he wants her to believe, bite by bite
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀of poisoned fruit broken off the shadows’ climb.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀So steep, so sheer a climb is night to master!
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀In a lake of tears, broken and dark, the moon
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ripples on each bite of wind, too hurt to believe.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀”Why bother to believe? Your day’s done. Climb
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀into bed, I won’t bite,” tugs the leash her master
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀has over her mirrored moon, dirty and broken,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀then having herself broken any vow she’d believe
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀worth keeping, the moon quits her cursed climb,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀as easy for her to master as an anorexic bite.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A sip of blood, a bite of innocent skin, a broken
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀word, a lie given her master, a dream to disbelieve
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀— her night must climb into the fall of her moon.