in tales of
eternal uphill,
you let the world slide away,
condemning us to still.
amidst stone
built stories of gods
and their trysts, sweet and fickle,
your name remains alone.
to love a
sphere is to love the
lightness that dwells amidst stars,
the her you call Moon.
she cannot
touch you here or there,
you cannot rest your hand on
her face, brush her hair.
you claim her
as your own— stubborn
little fool! her words filtered
by space become yours.
your youth calls
her forward to you —
you bear no intellect,
no wealth, strength, or gall.
you’re nothing.
but a prettiness far
enough away to derail
real intimacy.
you are both
safe in this affair-
projecting unreal wants
onto open air.
i do the
same unto you, though,
forcing false reality
from what i don’t know.
your words
i translate into
hopeful interpretations
of skies now blue.
when grayness
reigns outside my door,
imagine you in color,
light, and nothing more.
go on to
love your Moon woman-
i will go on to love you-
to pretend is no sin.
