Poetry

Stargazing
under a new sky.

Buried in the sands
of time,
to locate the gate of moon.

Nothing else moves
in my thoughts, except
a Venus fly-trap.

Your hinged, slanted
eyes, capturing my words.

Then your maze bleeds
in the spotless dawn
of baby year.

Between a mortal
and a saint.
I hang my mirror
to prove the divinity of the dust
of god.