Bella Luna

A frothy cup sits beside a lonely spoon.
Fingers drumming against the oak table

Outside, the moon is bursting on its seams.
Outside, the leaves are dancing under white lights.
Outside, people’s faces are as pale as a filmy ghost.

While the roofs are dripping in dewy languor,
I will stand under the moon’s milky stupor.

Let every drop seethe under every inch of my skin.

Outside.

Then, I shall fall asleep.
Sleep – drenched.
Dripping…
Drenched.