Anarchy

Wind prowled.
You had a hornet’s sting
buried half in your hand.

Anaphylactic shock.
Translates into night of terror.
You hesitate to smile.

Midnight blues.
You cannot count the stars.
Pesky. Stories spread about moon’s pink thighs.

An ode to the death’s kiss.
You were sleeping in the
sole embrace of pain.

The denizen breaks the rule.
Moves into the sea
for courtship with depth.