beautiful destruction

What is done

when even the moon,
my lovely Luna,
has mincing mangled
the many mysteries
of once you and me?

What is left

when stars shatter
shards slicing
through my heart,
hanging so heavily
below Polaris’s glow?

More the fool me,

for I believed this us,
trusted this you
to be true to a song
that no one has
ever fully understood.

And so it was that

the metaphors lied
lisping lascivious
willfully dismissive
of august scales
for foolish fairy tales.

And in the end

life constitutes a path
of partial truths
and whoresome follies
that at best compose
a mournfully moaning dirge

of beautiful destruction.

[My thanks once more to Allison, this time for “hunger” in her amazing collection of poems: Veins.]