Poetry

Abetting the suicide of 
a bystander, your impacted 
diamond, downs the hips. 
 
What had you done to 
me? I will not hold you responsible 
for the ache. 
 
There was the aging moon, 
still lingering in the― 
crack of dawn. 
 
I don’t close the door. 
Will wait for the big question 
from the exotic death― 
 
of dark matter, which 
defied the relationship 
of unique absurdities.