In theory the moon
is a terrible dancer.
But tonight, waltzing
alone in an open field
I feel her graces
on my shoulder,
her moon rhythms
measuring time
against my neck,
a delicate crater punched
into the small of my back.
She has never
been this close
to me
so I am unashamed
to be dancing with her
like this
for the first time,
a solitary partner
casting shadows
on frosted grass,
spinning over furrows,
long scarf precariously
close to my clomping boots
keeping three-quarter time,
pausing only when she
whispers the word lunatic
in my ear,
a bewitching farm girl
flirting
from her stratosphere
far away.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
In theory the moon
is a terrible dancer.
But tonight, waltzing
alone in an open field
I feel her graces
on my shoulder,
her moon rhythms
measuring time
against my neck,
a delicate crater punched
into the small of my back.
She has never
been this close
to me
so I am unashamed
to be dancing with her
like this
for the first time,
a solitary partner
casting shadows
on frosted grass,
spinning over furrows,
long scarf precariously
close to my clomping boots
keeping three-quarter time,
pausing only when she
whispers the word lunatic
in my ear,
a bewitching farm girl
flirting
from her stratosphere
far away.
