(...)

Let us build a constellation.
There is blood in our stars.
We are in a music box
Moonbeams swept nowhere.
A wraith lingers between us,
Mere breaths away; now set adrift.

Through the forest, up the sea
To the rays that circle down;
To an island you chose as home.
I’m drowning in a moonlit desert
With your scent still in my breast.

Why can’t I cry
For the unknown shore, far away?
Are the stars there the same?
Will the rain smell just as sweet?
I come wounded by a fatal kiss
With poison thorns in my arms.

Every moon is backward, static;
Every realm is white and bruised.
This is beauty now, and I am The Blind.

© 2018 Marten Hoyle