Heart Shaped Moon

She stands on paper,

looking over the words

some other poet

wrote.

Seeing in herself

what she wants to see,

in herself.

And I know she is real;

a snowflake on green grass,

a drop of water

in my ocean.

But she only whispers

what I want to shout,

and I feel the absolution

in her quiet tones.

It will never be

what I want it to be.

For I am the moon,

and the distance between us

is unreal.

And her waters break

on heart shaped rocks.