Ordinary Night (edit)

They strode through the park side by side,
miles apart compared to history.
He seemed not to remember
they had loved; she felt insane
with the wild grief of memory.

Please do not scream,
this is an ordinary night,
his still eyes implied.

The beast climbed her throat:
the hand that swung beside her, unheld,
had loved her skin and hers him.
She did not touch her fingers to his once-gentle mouth,
that uttered half of many sleepy conversations,
and woke her warmly many mornings.

In the bustle of the sidewalk
she held her lips closed with a wild claw
and he walked off with calm goodbyes
into the ordinary night –
the stars had not fallen, the stories stood
as cold as always. The moonlight fell
all the same – and reflected in her eyes
and on her cheeks, unseen.