Bitter watches of the night

I stand alone; crisp night breezes caressing my cheek like the tender touch of a lover. It almost breaks my heart the way it plays in the soft curls that frame my sallow face and I wish it were him. I close my eyes to the stars that reflect my heartbreak & nullified wishes, and I weep at how cruel stars can be.  
 
If the moon would appear, she'd cast silver beams on the windows of my fragile fortress. Uneasy, I settle on a ruined concrete step. Cracked and eroded from age and instability, it seems harshly fitting that I'd end up here, just as flawed. The biting cold seeps through my clothes, filtering in a Decemberist destitution that only the living feel.  
 
I contemplate a childish dream, scanning the sky for a risen moon, but only the stars and satellites are visible. Ignoring penitent tears, my voice is lost on the winter winds as I whisper, If only...  
 
If only my satellite heart could take me there. To stray between the stars and pass by the moon on an easy jet, making long, lazy circles far above the world. In my digression, perhaps I might look down upon the earth to find my brown-eyed lover, my garden of tranquility, where I am meant to be.  
 
          (assisted by JonhFeddeler; artwork by Konstantin Kacev)