I think of the moon as made of handmade paper with ink spots, so I wrote an #imagistpoem combining this thought and the common theme of forlorn lovers and the moon.
Once a rectangular note
Your love letter
Now distorted;
A crumpled orb
With corners peeking
Like the crescent of a
Paper moon waiting
To come full circle
You thrill me, Words
As I twirl you around
On a pencil tip
Or a blue pen nib
Then you gently lie
In exhaustion,
On reams of white
Until I pick you up
To dance on my lips
As verses and stories
Songs and mysteries
My broken heart, an artifact
In a spectacular box intact
Lying in tarnished pieces
With crumbling petals of roses
A Babushka doll, now faded
Holding a ring, long discarded
Stale memories wrapped
In tissue paper yellowed
Bury them all with me
When my tired soul flees!
Blue Pen Strokes 