untitled

Two swiftly floating souls left unattended fly...
only to fall like crisped leaves when cruel sun scorches sky.
I want the moon to kiss my face, and freeze my heart in place.
Oh Moon! Oh blesséd, dashing moon! Not to be tortured
by the incompatible number two.
I tempt the wine with drunken heart, laughing at my desires
just as medieval boys do to the slowly tortured upon wooded, splintered stages,
for all the world to see.
And what a show it is.

I know its prosy and abstract and genrally not very good, but I still like it...I suppose because it's mine.