Ode To the Sky As It Sets

The sky thralls me- my eyes e'er drawn to her center where she emits her soul a single star. her skirt of scalloped clouds, rose hued, darkens with her mood. She is royal, royal blue. She is enshrouded by inumerous precious stones, sapphires and diamonds she wears in her rolling tresses. Sometimes she is lit by fire. Her skirt is incandescent, lit by the relentless flame. The moon is the eye of a certain storm. The eye of the soul. It is rimmed in the sun's smouldering embers. Tonight the sky enticed me, sending the sun to rest with such a flourish, a swish of the hip, sending the glowing folds of her skirt in a frenzy. And it was all for me to draw my eyes to her, so that I may be tempted to keep my eyes upon her. The moon was stark on the dark stage, soft and full perfect, cratered and undulating. I plucked her out of the sky and replaced her with my own golden iris.