Maybe moon

The moon,

In her tears, soft white sound,

Cries outside my bedroom window amid night, for me,

Lost in sheets deep indigo.

Why

She cries like an angel,

In luminous night for one scarred lifelong, her voice honey

On wound, a mysterious song.

I want

To invite her into my bed,

Her head against my chest, armoured in love, I’d tell her

Amorous shining words.

As she flies

Passed in her car, overhead,

And I stand wondering, what, whereof, scratch my head, and

At night returns, sad again.

I want

To play 50s housewives,

Betty and Jane, a tea-towel, s and m, let her cruelly smile,

Perhaps she’d laugh then?

Be tickled?

Maybe moon, I could end

Your night for you? Into my kitchen, out the modern gloom?

Maybe moon.