This evening, despite being
fully cognizant of its own
tired and overused history,
the moon has forced itself
into poetic form once again.

In a fit of lunar inevitability,
it has grasped the same oceans
that have been responding to it
since time began, pulled them forth,
deposited iridescent seashells
along the new shorelines which
it has so predictably created.

In an ill-advised and
wholly objectionable coupling,
my heart has joined the moon in its
unsolicited but rhythmic advances,
thus painting you in an
ever-increasing desirability,
wrapping you in an enticing
and seductive allure.

Now then, somewhere within this
emotional complexity, my mind has
joined the fun, rousing itself
from its self-imposed reticence.
It has bared its opinions regarding
the moon's undeniably radiant magnetism,
and begun a flagrant celebration
of the origins of the word "lunatic".

10/03/2003

Author's Note: Before you get any ideas, this isn't about anybody. I remain as single as it's possible to be.

Posted on 10/04/2003
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