Full Moon, Too Soon It's Morning
our august night,
that feeling as we watch
clouds moving in high winds,
their stratospheric soft shoe,
I ask if you think
angels painted each cloud,
and blow with pursed lips
cool midnight breezes,
as if we've been granted god's parole
from the sun's summer heat,
asleep but waiting for morn,
dormant in the still warm concrete,
you smile like a cat in shadows,
forgiving me for waking you,
stolen from rainbow dreams,
as you turn to watch each distant star
appear as clouds dance away,
I say the moon turns a key,
and the zodiac opens,
you laugh and point at angry mars,
alive winking like fire,
your little gasps as finally we see,
the horizon's honored guest,
blazing through pine tops,
like a pharos finally sighted
sailing a crepuscular sea,
you clasp me close,
in hushed awe and pajamas,
eyes reflected in lunar hues,
as the heaven's white lady
shines her frozen expression,
singing one note forever,
and all I can think,
is that the story really is true,
I don't love you to the moon,
that's too near of an orbit,
if my heart could take me
to the farthest reaches of space,
I would ride there on moonbeams,
and catch dust from a comet's tail,
slide back to earth
on fiery meteor showers
just to see the love on your face
brighter than supernovas
and as the earth finally turns
pulling over its cold velvet blanket
we’re each drawn to our beds
falling down that gravity well
to pillow dimensions
and tranquility bases…
Copyright © Andrew Foreman | Year Posted 2014
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