on lonely winter nights
i find myself in the windowsill
gazing at coruscating stars and forgotten wishes
i grin at the moon
he smiles back

i close my eyes and conjure an image of the man on the moon
does he exist beyond childhood fairytale?
an impish smirk plays on his boyish face
as he reaches for me

he is the nocturnal prince, an imperial Peter Pan
stealing the prudence of stargazers
in the very hours of creativity

he is a collector of romances
seizing the hearts of sleeping beauties
as they fabricate stories of epic proportions
soon erased in waking moments

he is the fantasy of every idealist
the one who enchants her dreams
and inspires her ingenuity