Hares under a moon

We all looked like whores this year
On our knees

Begging for it to end, knowing
It was only just beginning.

You told me to be true, to be
As true as any theory could predict.

A feeling that bled
Through the pages and tore

Into the nights. I opened my mouth
For the exact moment

And still only blowflies came out
While you peered at me

From the corner of the page,
Retching away syllables like a child.

Disgusted, I turned away and made
Several vows and broke several vows.

And still there was no beauty in
Blowflies nor comfort while on

My knees. The moon was already waning
And your plea had already been effaced.