I can’t resist taking photos of the full moon. Perhaps this is why:
The Moon is Full and Waiting
The moon is full and waiting, and though the night is chill,
my true love expects me over yonder hill.
His ardent call invites me to join him for the night,
and yet I dread the cold cold wind and the failing light.
If I were only twenty, I’d have no choice to make;
but I have guests arriving and sweet bites yet to bake.
My true love lies waiting over yonder hill,
but he’ll return another night. I am sure he will,
for he has no other to overlook his flaws:
the roughness of his ardor, the power of his jaws.
His embrace often bruises, though this is not his intent.
In the excess of his ardor, only tenderness is meant.
The warm cave of our meeting carves out yonder hill,
but tonight I will not join him. It may be I never will.
Tomorrow night the full moon will partially be spent,
and perhaps on next month’s equal, once more I won’t relent.
Perhaps I’ll find another closer to my kind,
though an equal to his passion I’m unlikely to find.
A swift wind blows the clouds away to clear the shrouded moon.
My guests will be arriving. I know it will be soon.
I stir in leavening powder. I stir in heavy cream.
Across the hand I stir with falls the moon’s broad beam.
I drop the spoon and go again to open up the door.
I hear the gentle song of wind, my lover’s beckoning roar.
I answer with a beat of blood. A spasm in my thigh
invites me to be climbing over distant hill and high.
The crumbs fall from my fingers as I run into the night.
I do not feel the bruising stones or the wind’s cold bite.
My lover calls me onward, and once again I go.
For when the full moon calls me, not once have I said no.
(If this poem sounds familiar, it is because it is a rewrite of one I posted earlier. It is just so appropriate for today’s photo prompt, that I couldn’t resist posting it again.)