Cataclysmic Infatuation

Goaded by time,
That accursed Shepard of the wretched,
I laid my head down on a pillow of rocks
And watched the cool blue summer sky,
The white clouds in cakey amorphous slabs,
Framing the milky, distant moon.

Were it possible,
I asked myself if wouldn't use my thoughts
To send that moon crashing down into the earth,
Right into the den of this pristine paradise.

It would soon be over,
But perhaps not before the people would watch
That colossal orb getting closer, closer, and yet closer still--
Inciting hysteria and widespread panic,
Entreating all and sundry
To experience the full weight of unmitigated terror
With her jagged, prying fingers.

Then a crisp gale of wind caressed my cheek,
And I came to from this wild reverie.
The birds sang their inscrutable songs in the distance,
Complimenting a soothing pastoral cadence all around me,
My head against the coarse rocks scattered about.

But then I thought, if it wasn't for you, cruel mistress,
Would I humor such morbid thoughts?
True, without you I might be six feet in the earth already,
And yet everyday you work in madness to grind and strengthen the cruel shovel to put me there,
Your eyes exotic and mysterious,
Glowing in silent laughter at my obsession,
My intoxicating weakness, 
Your body sculpted to perfection like a Venus,
With dark locks framing a round face,
Skin as milky white
As the savage, silent moon.