Night Stalkings

I court the moon in fishnet stockings, mink, and buxom breasts a-heave in velvet. How I want the velvet of the night to hold me in its starry hands.

The moon is taxed with shooing sunsets, making room for dark. She won’t rise to my desires.

I’ll return when she is full of milk and I’m a lunatic for love I know she doesn’t feel.

She’s just a rock a’rolling lonely, high above my head.

published in Garden of Neuro