Moonlight dripped wax,
cooled from distance,
now hardened in the corner
of my little eye.
It burns a bit.
It is soft light when I blink...
How grease is easily spread,
superficially diluted in various
concoctions and reeks with a tinge
of petroleum, oh hum-
or pouring out the midnight oil.
I've never smelt a rat alive,
a spiders nest freshly woven, maybe
even minerals misting with moon dust.
The moon always watching her back,
a spy in the sky
she sees it all coming her way.
Meteor-light, star dust,
it was just us, quiet enough.
