I loved you in the darkest of night.
And somehow I expected the imperfect light
of the moon’s crooked smile
to light me up like daybreak.
But you were a lame sunrise.
You were a harrowing curve
and I was scattered as broken glass.
I was scattered as change spilled from your hand,
rolled across the hard, tiled floor.
I was a head’s down penny
and my copper had lost its luster,
so that even then,
in my weakest moments,
I was not worth the effort
© Laura A. Lord, 2016