Stealing the silver moon

Last night

while you were entranced in dreams,

I lassoed the moon

by his cratered neck 

and tied him to the brightest star.

I have it on good word

he's a voyeur.

He's confined above that spot on the beach  

where our fervent bodies 

tossed as lovers.

Tonight, he's full

so be ready with sandals.

 

The sun, I hear

will be weak and weary, 

and looking the other way.