The sun and the moon

She says we are doppelgangers
I tell her it’s a play of light.
She is in pink,
I am in off white.
She says I can borrow her clothes
But mine are snug and tight.
She is fleeting, unattached
I have grown roots,
tethered to the rest.
I am disillusioned, whereas
she has an alchemical vision.
I chew on the bitter crumbs
of news dipped in
my morning tea.
She sips hers with
toasted canvas of art,
dripping poetry.
I hide my scars,
they are ugly, I was told,
she flaunts hers,
she marks them in gold.
I think it all ends in pain.
She does not give a thought
to that kind of loss or gain.
We never saw eye to eye,
never touched in the time gone by.
We wonder if we could end that soon.
Yet in our hearts we know,
the sun never kissed the moon.