The Coming of the Sun

Only the moon knows her dreams

While the sun tries to sleep

Waking in sweaty torment

from the nightmares and the shakes

craving the chemical toxins

that claim the years unspent

And his fingers burn her flesh

with yellow nicotene stains

and cold-hearted desire

the tender, fading bruises

are enflamed as her cresting tide breaks

and she's slowly reeled back into reality

as the salty ocean drips down her thighs

stepping back from the sun's chaotic flame

the moon returns to her silvery prophetic dance of life.