I.
Interestingly enough, the moon’s
a perfect crescent
the likes of which I’ve never seen
before tonight, and I was
all alone, just walking and thinking
not of you, but, finally, of me. 

II.
It’s an Atlantic City evening
on the perfectly cobbled streets
of my second home, my home away
from home, where I ran when I
needed to get as far away from you
as I could; here was the best I could do
on such short notice, but I think
my heart’s beating faster all on its own. 

III.
If you tried to drop kisses in my hair 
and hold me to your chest tonight,
still smelling the same after all the
seconds, minutes, hours, days, months
I’ve been away without a whisper in my
ear from you, I’m not exactly proud to say
I think I might let you and be glad of it.

IV.
“All of us are in the gutter,
but some of us are looking at the stars” 
said a sarcastic and arrogant man, but
I still tape those words to my walls and
wonder about their wonder when alone. 

V.
Stars are not soft, but they
allow for misleadings and
are fueled by wishes run askance;
stars are not soft, but they
make my tears glitter and
strangers start to stare as I walk by. 

VI.
I haven’t written you any shorts
in what seems like forever,
but I guess I’ve been short
on things to say and short with you.