I saw against the black abyss:
a waxy moon, thin and wan
against the blaring red streetlights.
I think that if
i counted your broken promises
you should hang your head in shame
but my words flutter like the petals
delicate, off a cherry tree,
flurry downward, into your open palm,
escapes before it touches skin,
pushed away by a gentle wind
i think a part of me hates you
in my heart it rains
against the black sky:
a waxy moon, pressed like the
crumbled faded veins
of a flower, the weeping tree
the flickering streetlight goes out.