Lunar

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.