and the snow blots out
the wink of sun
and everything is given
to the glass-eyed moon
unanimated through the naked trees
and I love it vacant
don’t you know
so my next lover
will have no soul
no primal wounds to cut my lips
but he’ll be pretty
so pretty it will fucking hurt
like staring at a star
when it’s already dead
and I’ll forget
every chance I gave you
to remember who I am
until I forget it too
and he won’t care to notice
I’m also dead-eyed as the moon
but incisive as a broken life
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