The sky, filled with
The color of a nightly
Blue juniper berry minfested
with that pale, lonely crescent.
The void of the moon which
Mourns it's lost, hugs the
world as a bird
embraces the horizon.

I remember,
I remember when the
Most simple silhouette
of a thought of her could
Enlighten my mind.

Ichor surged through
My veins, raced to my
stomach, gave it butterflies,
Butterflies not nearly
As beautiful as she was.

Perhaps one day these tears can
Be stricken together to
Once again inflame
My heart, and fill

This crescent,
This void,
This soul.