Most nights you'll find me swinging in the hammock of the moon, sipping the night black, a few stars as sugar cubes.

She tucks the veil of her hair behind the crescent moon of her ear to reveal the stars in her eyes.

The sun still lives his silent vows to the moon, by bowing to kiss her feet whenever she walks in the room.

She’s has craters you didn’t create and darkness you don’t deserve. She’s as stunning as the moon on a cloudless night, but it may take millennia for her to find and manifest her own internal sunlight.

The moon & sun were just friends til that night the sun couldn’t depart before dark snowed in under an avalanche of stars & poetry was born.

Live in the shadow of the moon until you're bright enough to give birth to your own suns.