Breathe still for me, composed upon the sheet
you wind about my heart.
The moon is full tonight.
Her breathing is in time with yours
upon a moonlit bed. If she could die,
she would, to be as full of you
as I am. Her shining smooths
your brow where time has creased it.
How can she be more full than you,
shining, as you are, within me?
My love, if all the world must sleep
within itself, then let us ask the moon
to waken us. Perhaps she will oblige
and wrap her silver arms around your waist
as you lie dreaming of the moon upon your face.