Apathy reigns under your spotlight interrupted by brief flashes of lust
What stops you from sliding into our suppurating abattoir, moon ?
The sweetest of love stories fade into framed fossils of neglect
but I must not talk of dreary realities on wine-drunk nights
when we hang our fleece of guilt on your beams
and pretend that we did not steal Cupid’s
dart from his quiver while kissing him