Sitting up late into the dark,
that this has all been dulled to me.
No more spotlights
and feeling sorry
and mulling over regrets.
It’s all at odds.
I’m moving out into the warm summer night.
The moon is grey and dampened
and I see a man
not a woman
when i look into it’s opaque gaze.
The air is sickly sweet
and I rejoice to run my hands through
my own hair, across my own face
wet with brackish, foolhardy tears.