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(Published in the May 2023 issue of Borderless Journal) 


I watched the pregnant moon melt – a pearly blob

in the pulp of my onyx sleeplessness.

As I tossed and turned on the bed,

She played peek-a-boo through the lush filigree

of the wishing tree outside my window,

Mocking my naivete, scorning at the maelstrom

ripping through my jilted heart.


I invited her to a late-night cognac,

She accepted, scattering her uppity sparkle

on the blistered walls and cracked floors

of my restless atelier – with eavesdropping walls

and kitschy souvenirs, carrying the dust of sterile memories.


We clinked the crystals and raised a toast,

I, to my wasted sepia breath and moribund yen

She, to her borrowed sheen and waning arc.

The clouds waved and the stars smiled but half,

We laid out our picnic basket on the leaden sky –

One, with the whiff of stale desire, and a taste of dementia,

A one-pot meal of life’s battle scars

Slow cooked on the embers of pain, love and loss.


Then the tired moon yawned and tucked herself to sleep

As I slid under the duvet of half-crocheted, gossamer dreams,

High on life…drunk on hope…a dandelion

amidst the rubble of my being.










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