Nothing will
be the same
again; after
that night the moon
washed away
all pretence - left an ash-blonde
concupisense for me
when I was starlight
That the
Angels forgave
making amends
whispering discretely
in their astral creche
saved me from desires
the night engraved in
their innocence
But, alas,
today it is long
past-tense; and
tho I’ll try to forget - that
bet to be free
might fail serially from
being privy to
when I was starlight
© 17 May 2018, I. D. Carswell
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