THE THESPIAN AND THE MOONGAZER

I looked for her
through years of
moon-gazing,
knowing
we both discerned that satellite.

She clothed herself
as actors do,
and she sang
the angel octaves-
spinning under spotlight

My world was featureless-
a tectonic slumber
of silent plates;
ashen ridges on
cross-stitched faces.

Through the grist mill
of a brick skyline;
she laced under cars.
She blossomed through windows-
a billion year body.

Captured to your script,
I buried myself
under her Mediterranean eyes,
and the hunger of
the coliseum.