Crescent Moon (a Poem)

A silver scythe
Drapes and pierces
The necks
Of empty, glittering
Bottles
Nestled in sand
Like small, black eyes
Gleaming with tears

Little indentations
Lover's footsteps
Pock the ground
Small, dry kisses
Away from open sea
Farther still
From a blanket
And a silhouette
In shadowed hues

Rough hands
Clench helplessly
At empty air
Where she once was
The sound
Of panting, relentless
Water
Churn thoughts
Of passion spent
Under a crescent moon