She radiates.
Ivory angles cut out of granite
Those deep red stilettos cutting into the pavement
Cigarette hanging from her crimson lips like a fishing rod
Stars are blinding when withheld behind the eye -
And they cause more tears than any amount of psychological shit
Somehow always coming back to that fucking phrase,
"Daddy didn't love me."

Shuffling past shrubbery of wisteria and poppies,
It submerges out of her trench coat.

It's so cold against her temple it feels like beads of water.
It could be sweat.
Her eyes rise to the heavens and pupils dilate,
Finally letting those stars free.

Goodnight, moon.