Maybe the moon

The lips are bright red, the mascara comes
From outer space to reach the eyelids
And highlight what the mouth lit.
What is funny, funny you know
Is the way the high heels reach for the
Invisible steps
That cross your path and lead to the death
Of stars, already dead anyway
Of candles shattered by the wax of your plastic
Ways.
Maybe the moon, too, its paleness undermined
By the whiteness of your jaw, yet splattered
By the gray that you then lay all over
Your ashtray.
Dear you, me wish I could be your color landlord
Me wish you would not kill every heavenly body
Including stars, candles, and maybe the moon.
Best regards to your pink cheeks, they
Pay tribute to no one