I Wanted to Kiss the Moon

and then I didn’t and the window closed
so I wrote all night. There was a cold draft
absent and the stale air of the moonlight
bored like a drill into the shadows of my mind.

And I knew that I didn’t kiss the moon
and I knew that I didn’t want to but still the air,
the urge, the blank look of her eyes walked
up and down the walls and chuckled

through shiny teeth, through lush eyelashes
fixed to aqua eyelids and when the window opened
again, my heart stopped beating that fire beat
and settled like red, yellow, and gold leaves of Autumn
in the gutter.