I am still waiting for the moon
to find her own light. I mean,
she can’t just lie there like a
mirror forever, can she? Can I
please hold something in my
hands that might not wane?
If I rip myself open, hold these
inky veins out to an indifferent
sky, will I understand the stars?
This is me, unpeeled. Revealed
in scattered lines. A revolution
of sighs and silence. A slightly
broken smile. A quiet chance.
Fingers frozen by wings of doubt
and drought. Also, this: I should
never have asked you to dance.
Anmol over at dVerse posted an incredibly well researched prompt that I have been trying to get back to since Tuesday. Check it out.