She Has That Way About Her

The moon is a yellow-green tonight like the pistils of a daisy. I have no interest in sleep. The wine is gentle on my nerves. I think about her discreetly. I imagine her on a couch in pajamas reading a thick novel. It is wrong of me to think of her without her consent. I hear the deer down below rustling the leaves. They have gathered around to listen to John Coltrane. She has that way about her that makes you want to think about her. And the silky darkness makes it easy.