The moon has the colour of the ashy-pale face you had
when I last saw you
time was stretching his infinite heart,
growing, growing
it seemed it never wanted to break
under the burden of my voice,
never wanted to listen
the tears you wasted
for the night you never gave birth to.

The moon now stares at me, deep sick sight of your eyes,
counting my premature silver strands,
its word against mine,
your face against the mirror of my mind
tossing,
haunting,
arrosing from the grave of my heart,
from the no-where-now-here I sent you
coming to rip me, to peel the petals
of a dream that still goes on for ages…