At night when whispers are illuminated by the moon, where shadows seem to mingle and lovingly swoon, two dancers reach for the other’s hands, only to come up empty in the end.
Love is in the darkened dreamy gaze, the low and desperate hum we crave. It calls to us to dutifully rise, to shed our tears but dry our eyes.
Though we may be of the sun and the shadowed face, my darkness can’t be shed no matter how hard I pray.
So I look to the skies, where ancient gods and goddesses cry, and I see you—the calm, the storm, there waiting to take my hand, I’m torn.
For I am the moon, and you are the sun. We will endlessly rotate but never live as one. I long await the treasured days, where my glow and yours eclipse briefly.
Until then I’ll beam and rotate. Our proud love endlessly showcased.