DFA Writes

his shiny leather shoes
on the floor,
his fingers tracing
her pale, pale neck.

nothing between them
                                         but the truth.
tighter than clothing,
more strangling than rope -
the truth.

when he turned away,
she longed to trace his shoulder
with the stars against the
black, black night
just like she use to,
when she wasn’t a liar
and when he,
when  he still loved her.

she hated the sun,
her replacement in the austentatious, gaudy
daylight.
 how she hated the sun.

but the sun served a purpose,
and the beautiful pale, pale moon
knew this.

and still, she watched silently and waited
for the twilight to come and the
day to be done.
she wished so hard for the damn autumn sun to go down
down
and
of course,
it never did.

there can be no love without truth.
and love is a two way street.