Rakish man smiles in Mercedes moon,

spinning wheels on silvery waves,

eyes dark and devious in ebony skies,

a spirited lover hovering in clouds.

Misted drapery opens, music plays,

glistening petals drop from new moon,

dancing in shadows with eyes on her.

Man paint moon onyx with raspberry stars,

waltzing with white swans, he beckons

in whispered secrets and magic potions.

White wine poured in cream crescent moon

as he touches her deep skin with his light,

an opulence where enchantment lies.

Kissing ocean’s reflection, entwining with sea

passionate alliance with sunglassed sun

as moon holds sun in egg cup of morning.

It was as if he was not a child of the Sun. He turned sadly with his knapsack, and headed down. Found a moonbeam that he followed to its limit; turned the round knob and climbed back in, to Her, his other mother. Safe within he fully lowered the curtain behind with a single bicolored strand---silver and black. Sparkling and speckled, it unrolled as he looked back---forever safe and dry, day and night, he'd be sacked in that lunar room. Yes, he would curl up, hide in this surrogate womb. 

An unexpected reversal overtook him: Curiosity. He, an old man, pressed his face to her inner belly as if to just once more feel the kick of Earth as it grew. Like in a glass sphere, his face spread across the surface of her abdomen. His eyes in her craters; his nose upon a mountain; his mouth twisting through valleys, unexpectedly serene. He closed his eyes but a moment... and the Sun kissed him goodnight.