The moon has a crooked yellow smile

French crooning airs all the while

I walk with my brothers, three,

My brothers walk with me.

We rinse our soles in the dew,

Blessed as the starry secret’s few,

Alone I tire, but now together we’ve flown

They are my fire. They are my stone.

Love vibrates in my hands.

Lighting up like lunar sands.

I have her voice in my pocket,

Heart in my locket.

A tender word from the night,

From the dark data sea, out of sight.

Given by the stork of the stars,

A little piece of moonlight is ours.

Surely I know this love is no phase,

When she whispers verse not phrase

“A million worlds await” she spoke

And the night of our youth is a smoke

That is worthy

Of poetry.