Poetry

i love the moon, i love how it coats the silohettes of trees with silver as smooth as silk, i like how i can look at it direct, i like the thought that it can look at me and see my wonderment, unlike the sun, who only sees a stupid squinted face, yes, i love the moon, i love the moon on you, i like to stroke it on your skin, as if im applying it to protect you, to protect you against....i dont know, but you look as if you feel safer, i love the way it makes your lips so deeply red, the color actualy makes me hungry for you, i want to say something, but it would be an insult to the moon, as if to interupt it of its sonnet that seems to be singing to all of these senses simultaneously, i want to say something, but the moon has stolen all beauty around us, a panoramic view of pure perfection, and what can i say that could possibly even come close to all this beauty that surrounds us, i actually feel unworthy to be here, i feel my presence is but a sour taste on such a sweet picture, but i refuse to leave, i am siezing all this beauty, its mine, these are my eyes