The clouds kiss the earth
with a lingering tongue,
gentle and sweet,
loving.
Until the morning sun
snatches back
the land
with a swift
and jealous hand.
The moon
hides his head
in shame
waiting for the night.
A shooting star
never shoots twice.
Wishing for the clouds
to descend again
waiting for
the sun
to go.
Night falls,
the moon
finally
suppresses his shame
enough
to glow.
At least
until
the morning.
5.19.19
