Blame it on the moon.
This scratching in the back of my head
like a constant reminder to feed
a primal beast within me.
Blame the moon that shines bright in the evening sky,
full like the pregnant belly
of a goddess who's name is long forgotten
(only to those who have forgotten the ways of the ancients).
Blame it on Luna,
who hangs like a child's mobile above their bed.
She swims in circles and lulls many to sleep,
but keeps some of us awake with her droning.
Blame it on the satellite
that pulls at my inner tide
to feast upon myself in gluttony.
because blame needs to be placed
for this fiery need