The Moon

We are the waxen crescent feast of star shine
the poetic moon groom,
the romantic echo of sun
while it murmurs in swishing tide of peaceful sleep
each half of the heart drawn by the moonlit *****
strolling the Titanic proportionate
a two headed bobbing horizon lost at sea
could you dream of me in dune songs
whispering tomorrow dawning in summer sonnets
could you think of me possibly
when ever you gaze up at a waxing Moon.