The cursed caress

The moon caresses my skin
with her cursed lies.
She whispers songs of love
and of weakness, on and on.
I swallow them, starving,
in a single, haunted breath.
Oh, if only I knew how to dance with closed eyes,
like a shadow drunk on its own voice.
If only I dared to dream
without the sweet bite of her fingers in my hair.
But she takes me hostage, invisible,
fragile as a lash on my pillow.
Each night.
Again and again.
Until her silence devours my sleepless nights.