Will I ever see your face in the light of the day?
I want to know the way the bright bounces off your features.
How it softens the angles...
What do you say in the presence of the sun?
The moon, not quite so percussive with it's judgment,
allows shadiness for your values to hide in.
Who are you without the masquerade of the night?
Would I even want you anymore with your flaws so clearly illuminated?
Surely the weakness would show upon your face like some sort of permanent mug shot.
You would be forced to explain the scars upon your skin.
And the years, the years you repress
I would see them and they would shift the power to my favor.
Two weeks after the sun turned you to cinders before me
I would forget.