The moon in the sky
Hangs on a silver thread.
She watches us,
And longs to feast on our love.
To savour our greedy kisses.
And she pales with jealous hunger
As I eat the sighs from your lips.

For she is thin,
Her edges so sharp that she
might rip the velvet sky,
Spilling out the shining stars
Whose light, even now,
(Though we think we know)
We see through holes in the fabric.

Forgive me now,
for I, being a shadow-child,
must feed the hungry moon.
But watch me set out a banquet for Her.
With crumpled sheets
as the table cloth.
And our naked flesh, as the delicate feast.

From crystal goblets
she will drink your gasps
and from china plates she will sample
all the flavours of passion.
She will dispense with silver forks
And choose instead
The childish mess of hands.
And after she has drunk her last
and pushed away her plate
we’ll lie entwined,
on rumpled bed.
And let the soft breeze cool our skin.
We’ll look up to the skies and see
the full moon’s bashful smile.