I wane perplexed by the rising sun
had it already begun?
Mystified, I am speechless
but not dumbfounded
for I know all too well
the waxing ways of the moon
which clings to my innermost.
No, it had not finished with me.
The scorching rays of the sun
beating rhythms down to my bones.
The innermost will not accord
and waxing fires have just begun
alas the moon is not yet done.
Will it always be the falling sun
that captures my senses, every one?
I'd dive with it to die in pleasure
not to be captured by the moon again
and it's desires that clench my throat,
casting the spiral down,
where ghosts are hid,
and nothing is forbid.
scattered and dusty old promises;
search only to find imposters of the flame.
Nothing is lost and all is emptied
Store housing matter, the moon is in luck
and is able to live another day.