Lover of Dark Hours

The moon

a saber of Mameluke

brandishes a polished edge,

glistening and sharp.

My senses bemused by a mocking


He knows the artistry of

consuming love

and I shrink in fear.

Imparting a gentle windswept kiss,

it penetrates the


and cleaves my heart in two.




4 responses to “Lover of Dark Hours

  1. Truly compelling poem. I am recovering from a few years of lunar-phobia. It’s not just “oh want a pretty moon!” Your poem takes it seriously. Thank you.


  2. That was supposed to be “oh what a pretty moon.”


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