Separation

She is the moon

Alive – yet within his mirror

a royal white silk tear

Solo, as he

Safe with his lens, he sits awhile

away from his looking glass

and its cold, smooth kiss

'I know pearls will bring me sadness

and must not be stitched into a wedding dress'

he hums his mother's words

hunched in his white coat

pencilling his equations

A cool manipulation providing a blood rush

She sits in her white dress

a bride to be forever

whilst the galaxies ripple around her

a pleat of star songs

The poets see her

The children see her

The fools see her

The wise see her

Whilst his logical heart stays blind