I can’t help but to look up at the moon
When it is filled to the brim
And when the sky is empty like…

But the moon,
An object of much observation
But I… I do not stare
I don’t like to analyze, I…

The moon is like the night’s token of affection to the earth,
A silvery coin…
I look at its face,
Yes, it has a face.
There are stories that have been heard
But no one sees the face I see…
Solemn, sad, set apart from…
A lover perhaps?

The face of depression, filled with lines,
Lines that run in circular motions:
Never ending stories of sorrow.

The moon has a face of longing,
Longing for more than empty space,
Longing for more than high speed impacts,
Waiting for a lover perhaps…

I look upon its face, void of appendages to reach…
And to touch,
To hold,
To fill that empty sky that is much like…

The moon has a straight nose
And drooped eyes
And, of course, a round face kept together by gravity,
My life is void of gravity…

I look at the moon
And the moon looks back with a gaze
Passing through the empty sky that is just like
My Life
As I know it; as it was once know
But not as it is known now
By the moon, no one else.

The moon always seemed incomplete,
Whole but still riddled with holes that let the nothingness of the clear sky
Seep through them.
The moon needs someone,
A lover perhaps?

I’ve never had a lover
And my skies are cloudless, stormless, lifeless,
A lover has never had me,
No one to hold me
No one to talk me into infinite,
To talk me into my sleep.
A lover to give the affection I do not deserve,
I was never meant to be overlooked…

Looking over me, the moon glows
From stolen light,
For it has no life of its own,
Its face remains cold and hard,
Hard and stiff from maintaining the same face for billions of years.
Hard and stiff from looking up at the sky
My neck is starting to become.

The moon,
Myself,
Unable to reach each other,
Separated by empty actions and empty thoughts.
So we try something different,
I smile,
The moon smiles,
And we meet each other halfways,
Waltzing across the stratosphere,
Brewing storms of passion where lightning raves
Only to settle down into a light drizzle
That coats the eyes of dreamers,
That puts the motionless to rest.

That night,
The moon and I



were lovers.