Obsidian Moon:

A faint, colorless scar,

Underneath her right eye.

She peers over her right shoulder,

Each side her right side.

Messages pile high unattended in her left hand,

Looking at me in the right way,

In the right light.

A scar,

Concave;

As pronounced as the contours of her full lips,

Convex.

If only I could lay below her glance,

Underneath,

Beneath her right eye,

In the olive-colored hammock;

Beneath a jet black waterfall,

Basking in the glow,

Hanging below an obsidian moon.