Dear moon,
A mere glimse or thought, I'm all yours,
a letter or a poem, I know not,
but I write to you,
beneath your garden I stand,
no roses, no lavenders,
my eyes search for where stand you
and then the one, beside you usually
that resides, what is it that beholds me,
why does the air everytime asks me
to search for you?
its true you paint my lips, creating an arc wide,
which even comedians do but
that's the thing, comic you are not,
its different, I feel it.
Is it your divine beauty that
as a magnet pulls my sight
or is it the moonlight in the night
or your tranquility, your...