Someone has set the moon up very high tonight
where she drifts in and out of the billowing clouds,
like a young girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts
at a grown-up party, shy but wanting to see and to be seen.
Or maybe she is playing hide and seek with her cosmic sisters.
You would think she is being very demurrer tonight
until you see the black slice
that rides the hem of her pale yellow gown.
Aha, what is she wearing under that charmingly modest dress?
Could that really be a black satin petticoat or a lacy ruffle?
She is not trying to hide it;
it drifts along under her for the world to see.
If one of the clouds snagged her skirt and tore it away,
Would we see the rest of her bad girl lingerie?
Perhaps a black silk slip
or a tantalizing corset with beribboned garters.
She is no young girl tonight; she is a teasing yellow harlot
slipping in and out of view, tossing come hither looks
through the clouds.
Someone has set the moon up very high tonight
so that we may see her in all of her golden glory for one night.
For she has come of age and soon,
in her fullness, she will slip away
to meet her lover and cast aside her girlish clothes
and melt with the dark of the night to sleep with the stars.
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