Just as the moon is forever drifting away, so were my dark thoughts while writing this lunar, late-night poem inspired by the surrealist digital art of Aykut Aydoğdu. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
“Sick of that same face,” you say.
“They way you leave a little hanging out
then skimp, a belt-tightening shave.”
Ashamed, I’m left to loiter,
nature’s goiter.
Year after year of adoration,
my scars stay the same.
I curse your curves,
ignore the meteor shower of kisses
remembering cloudy nights of blame.
Gagged by my full moon,
you spread cosmic lips
lined with constellations
on your knees in supplication
to make majestic roundness fit.
Your hands are servants
to a beautiful, edgeless being
bound above the topless trees;
your pink dawn mouth,
a mother, cradling.
We role-play intergalactically;
astronauts tethered to your earlobes
explore the dangling space,
the black holes
between your neck and face.
You submit to these monthly visits
and I admit, I have the perfect view
drifting away from you.
Inspired by the surrealist digital art of Aykut Aydoğdu and written for the Late Night Poets Blog Radio.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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