The moon hangs low tonight,
Heavy with melancholy romance
And hazy lusting.
My blood lists to and fro,
Dancing a tidal waltz with
That distant face.
I think of all the times
I've made love
While this same moon
Peeked in through the window,
Illuminating bright eyes
And milky skin;
How many times
I've wept in the witching hour
With the ghosts of grandmothers
While this moon watches,
Waiting for me to come out to play.
I grow sick of the moon.
It's evident moodiness,
Bright and full one night,
Dissolved to black the next.
Consistency is key here.
I desire no more.