Sickening slime of men—who are you who hath cast the first stone?
Samson and Delilah—Did I ask that you cut your hair?
Nay, I asked for the briefest of moments that two held together
Against their breast, shared between twin ribcages and
Softly sleeping slumbering, tucked between the covers.
‘twere as if the man had left the moon and she
With her soul song’s sobbing, took up against the rising darkness
Wielding a terrible light in hand.  
As now, I am.

A great darkness this is, that she finds herself in.
And doubling doubts of mischief calling, the sun
Makes known his truest searchings—for that fair woman
Whom the night doth embrace in a starlit cloak of exorbitant splendor.
But coquettishly she shies away—for the sun shall never be the moon--
And the rays of light are all too revealing of the crevices and craters
That pick their ways across her surface like clouds peppering a perfect
Sunset.