talking to the sun while the moon eavesdrops

trE
sunmoondance
Art by Jr Korpa via Unsplash

 

clouds break before noon,
the wind rushes in and
the two of us sit with
the chill as if
tomorrow plans on
beating around the bush
about showing up.

I hold his hand.
he brushes against
my sun-beaten skin and
tries to steal a moment
with my eyes.

we sit in the glow of
a freshly splattered rain,
sun peeking its head out
while drops fall–Devil’s
beating his wife.
I don’t want to miss
a second of his
green-eyed stare.

I watch the moon as
it hurries in between
sibling clouds, its
intent is clear.
it’s here to stop
our show.

tonight, there will be
no encore.

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