A glimpse is all that
I long for, and honestly
I'd like it to be full

with a man inside, eating
melted brie spread on
crusty french bread

he, nestled safely
within the realm of his
own private sphere with

no fear of intrusion
because not a soul
can touch him

I watch him nightly
through the density
of my summer trees

I am a butterfly
in the suburbs in
pursuit of the moon

ah, there it is
moving through
the branches

ever so slowly, and
I see that profile
so damn arrogant yet

his profundity is
equally matched
by his loneliness

so I am
not ashamed
by mine, and

a thousand stars
surround him as he
drinks imported wine

yet I see it's but
a mere half-moon at
quarter past nine...