Crown of Bloody Teeth
“She looks like the moon,” you say,
beauty has such a knack for annihilation.
I spend the next seven nights sleeping under the deep blue black sky,
making love to midnight, inhaling stars,
crafting my bible out of moonbeams. I wonder-
how can some things be so devastatingly unaware
of their magnificence?
On the seventh night I melt, skin turned inside out,
ribs laid bare on the cold earth,
lungs probing not for air, but for something far less sinister,
begging the moon to show me her secrets,
pry my teeth from my mouth
with pliers and
knit them together into a shining white crown
eyes enormous, luminous
lips carved into a dripping red crescent.
Now maybe the moon
won’t be the only one
who gets to shine so bright.