Moon-boy

the boy is dragged across the sky

Like a dying, fallen angel that glides like a blistering star

He climbs his paintbrush with a shaking hand, creating a new hemisphere, atmosphere

Attached to his retina like a gland growing into a new universe

He grew too monumental, too gargantuan for his own form, for even the green and blue human world

The pain of growth burning his cheek like a fire that never died

He asked his love Saturn when he could return home

“Assssk me in December, my life, my love,” came the cool whisper that chilled the Moon-boy into the saddest tears

The tears felt so fresh and real and terribly painful

He cried into the core of the moon, hitting the sub past it like a perfect weapon

The implosion fresh and terrible and beautiful

The wolf-boy was now a part of the moon’s terrible glow

December never came

His name stretches in a mountain’s agonizing death

Of the soft water slowly ending it's mighty cursed face