Poetry

Sunday, 8 February 2026

The phases of the moon

She I can't follow

Up and down like a yoyo

There's the new moon

Better let her know now


She, I can't follow

Silver thread to her bed

The Waning Crescent

She's the lady in red


She, I can't follow

I'm like a rainbow on the blink

The Third quarter 

She gives me a wink, I think


She, I can't follow

Her summer swallow

The Waning gibbous

Her wax wings I kiss

In her wax work museum


And the full moon

Was I a loon crying at noon?

Was it a neap tide

Was she a true bride?

Had she lied? We all lie

It's just the phases of the moon

It's only true at that time


The waxing gibbous 

She was melting like a candle

Too hot to handle

I never tried


The first quarter hid us

Occluded from the light

I saw a polaroid flash

I saw a polar bear dash

Across a wire and I didn't care


The Waning crescent slid

Down our throats

Like a lemon slice

Like a glass of wine it disappeared

Brought into focus

The sharp taste

Bitter as leaving your lover

And that's how I follow her

like the phases of the moon




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