Who is dating the Moon?

One milky night, the luminescence of the moon stalked my window. Peering through the linens, it assured me that the night wasn’t too dark for me to speak with its rays. It was persistent, prodding me to believe that no fiend could hurt me. I trusted. Stepping out, it sent a scent that was sacred, one only a lover could perceive.

When our eyes met, its rays whispered a song my mother used to sing when I lost sleep. It had a terrible voice but its effort to make me smile erased all the baritone. When the breeze punched my face I knew it smiled, and when it caressed me I knew it was its touch. I do not know who is dating the moon, but the moon is dating me.

LARDO