I have traced moon’s polished
alabaster form
with trembling fingers,
I have cast
tear-soaked letters
into rainy streets,
watched them swirl
down sewers,
I have been hypnotized by
Erato’s stare, in crystal pools
I have reciprocated

these traits
of a hungry heart
with volumes
of sighing words
sown into mirrors and
patiently listening

dead-fish eyes
perched upon rococo facades
are warning beacons,
I see strings attached to
a choreographed touch,
hollow language
is the screaming confession
of a festered soul.

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