Jilted lovers from the sky fall 
Painting the onlookers in rituals
Red and brilliant and earnest

Only abating when the skies clear
To the rare moons that play fate
Draining all closer to the craters

At the centre of the carnality
A pink mass corners into itself
Besieged in pockmarked detritus 

Burning still against the distrust
That first soul wanders close 
The visceral tone reveals itself

To seldom be composed past 
Inklings of half-finished words
Lost in the euphoria of renewal 

---

Mason Betty, “Valentine’s Day In Carancas” from Sallos