The Dream Was About Us

The moon was a bomb that did not explode,
the night was a smoke cloud that I exhaled.
The dream was about us, and I was told
that we were still in a love that had failed.

You left some stars for the morning birds
to nibble at when the pink had paled.
And I drew a trail of pretty words,
for you to follow whenever you wailed.

I heard your thoughts trot towards the dark pit;
I smelt your deadness on a dress that sailed
a shroud on my soul, a flag that hit
the winds as they gasped and the love they failed.

The dream was about us, and I was told
that we were still in a love we couldn't hold.