Finite (and Endless)
The night gasps, swallows
the silence, while the juice
of collapsed stars seeps
down her gibbous chin;
it gleams
with their waning breaths.
Her throaty laugh reeks
of black holes, grief,
and greed.
She raps on my window
lest I forget, with raucous raindrops
that liquefy the world beyond
and leave it distorted, drowning.
Beyond the blink of midnight,
a baby cries, frightened
by the obsidian absence
in her mother's eyes.
But Mama just wipes her lips
on a sullied sleeve
and whispers
goodnight.
Poetry
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