Full Moon
Her face is wrinkled, cratered, and scarred;
It’s far from flawless; agèd; hard.
But when the night is right, she’ll overflow,
For about her is an indelible glow;
A glorious white that lights the sky
As I kiss her surface with my distant eye,
And stretch out my fingers for a feel
But she steps an inch back, arousing appeal;
I wish the nights would bleed over days
So I could bathe in her luminous ivory rays.
Cursed be the sun, for when comes the dawn
With an opalescent yellow yawn.
Copyright © Eric Specian | Year Posted 2012
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