The blood black ink
Of the pen you gave me
Will soon be dispersed
Across the full moon emptiness
Of my paper.
Its shades of grief
Will cast long strong shadows
Deep into the image
Of moonshine that I created,
For you.
The whisper of that ink
Is as sure as sunrise.
The insolence of youth;
Craving a perfect expanse
Of whiteness.
Parkstreet
