BITTERSWEET

goodbye my dear august

I’m still stuck finger painting crimson constellations on my shoulders

with my blood-stained hands and building their intimate knowledge

of the patterns that decorate my face

still, you can’t find these stars in the sky

I know because I checked tonight

stood like a ghost in my own backyard

watching the moon carve faces into clouds

and tiny bits of starlight prove that the galaxy is 

still alive

but while I am a ghost I am no more than some romantic image

of myself and my thoughts

so I vainly wonder if people are watching me through darkened windows

and whether the single streetlight I see on the hill

holds any significance at all 

(it doesn’t)

I can’t really explain it

but the moon is so perfect tonight that I feel I am allowed

a little bit of romance

while I am a ghost instead of wishing I was someone else