The Compromise

Hunger drips down her lips
with metallic intent;
the air is busy,
and unfortunate.

I follow her startled shadow
across the sky, where she carves
her birth,
adjusts her lie.

I am an untruth,
a moment of virtue,
a black sheep stretched
over her flowering plateau.

This is no place for love,
or for night,
or for sky.
This is a burial of the
sick compromise
of her and I.