Silver light

The moon ripples at a puddle, one in the morning, a desert skin cracks. Shea butter. Mother makes me an herb that reaks of midnight. That was an hour ago. He is an ego far later. Far is near and I am here at this blue lotus. He is shining simple and I am ravaging, smiling. Blood stains my mouth, it is the wind that signals, up and over me. I only bite my tongue. He only bit his lips.

The light is a silver thread envisioning us together, I take my sword and cut the light in two, we are destined on separate paths, then, at the next full moon we will see him again.