Lunar calendar #1

Tonight's moon is the curve of her hips,
a sexy silhoutte shrouded in a shawl of silver mist.

Trees stand attentive guarding her chastity
and in other places her enticing light is blotted out.

Sing ye hapless children of the earth,
ye sons of the high noon that speak your desires amid tongues of flame
running to lick the fringes of her dress,
speak your wisdom that recurs
while nimble fingers caress soft skinned drums