Fallen moon
held prisoner in a puddle

stabbed
by a stiletto

that click claks
to the cruising car

offering straight
sex

(& other various
positions & passions)

to its gesticulating
occupant.

The car
leaves without her.

She shifts gum
from one side to the other

blows
& pops
a bubble

leaving the sticky mess
upon her lips

regurgitated to
blow another.

“A...cazza’n cullo! ”
she shouts at the bitter cold.

I attend
the dying moon

whispering the last rites
of a half forgotten poem

to its shattered reflection.

Returning to my room
I drink alone.

Full moon
in Milan

wandering the heavens

looming large now
smiling in my little window.

*
Guarda che luna Look at the moon
Guarda che mare Look at the sea
Questa notte senza te on this night without you
Vorei morire I don’t want to live

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/guarda-che-luna-look-at-the-moon/