The moon is falling down on the job


Where are you, muse.
You were supposed to be the go-between,
the light narrator of your angry, fiery lover – our lightning man.
Instead you let him stay the night and abuse us,
hot breath whispered in our ears.

Come back and right it all, moon goddess.
Lap the waves so they catch the hot wind,
then fold cold stars over our sweaty hearts.

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