Drink liquid stars.
In the sky.
In the night.
In the forever abysmal.
Of time.
The moon only stays in the sky.
Because it is lonely.
The sun is too bright.
So bright.
The clouds want to whisk it away.
And the blue wants to drown it out.
And the night...
The night is lonely.
With punctured stars.
And midnight black.
That slips like sand through broken hands.
And the moon...
A lighthouse beacon to lonely soldiers.
Of every age.