beloved la lune,
the wind is an infinite energy,
& i am the yonder upon the hindering oceans looking like i'll seemingly rise in a fraction of time,
you are the calm gentle breeze that bores dry desert-hollowed out wind from your rhythmic star-reading planet, you hear my letters and my secret whispers don't you, your replies are but in a haste subtlety when you send me a flowery velvet living-seashell on the shore, you disappear behind the clouds after that. you're the enigma i'll never be able to entangle, i'll never even reach you, no matter how hard i try to register into the space program.

& when the sand on my cheeks sink into my throat do i know that you exist in everything i have ever touched, everyone i've met, everything that i have yet to see, yet to meet,
more letters to the moon i have yet to send through the postal service from the cava's of my heart, and from the wrinkly barks of my  fingerprints, i hope you wait for my belated letters due to my inconsistent committment i've made to writing. i'm still scarred from what you've done to me, i shouldn't have abruptly left you hanging in the sky, but who was i to stop sadness from overtaking me. i know you're hurting too, la lune. and i'm sorry for that.

until our own-made fate or destiny unravels and
coincidentally intertwine together, until our distant futures to come. the dusts that once made the universe are bound to collide once again, and once, it will be together, again, but, until then

au revoir,
la lune.