28 days old and she’s whole.
Dressed in satin black and diamonds.
The others are star stuck.
She lingers, strong.
She commands attention, she revels in song.
Floating high the whole night long.
Sliding her hands down the back of your neck,
and tilting your chin to the heavens.
Waitless, she flits from eye to eye.
You bring her home with you,
take her to bed.
Treat her like the only bright thing in the sky.
Goodnight, moon, you whisper.
He tells her he can’t help himself.
As he touches her where he wants.
Demands her skin for himself.
She doesn’t mind.
He’s got tattoos and a jawline that could cut moonstone.
But somewhere inside,
The part where she believes she belongs to herself,