i hang between
our hearts a bald-faced
moon
of silence
and of stars
to balm the scalding
blankness of your
unprescence.
i am and only am
the Stasis to your trampling
stars;
in the wake of your petaling, plaster.
love, having loosed
every white-faced saint into
the sea,
crumples at the shoreline,
gathering starlight to pool
in the hem of her dress.
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