Why are my eyes roaming in the moonshadows
of her silhouetted smile as if it was the montage
to her soul projected as a chromatic fantasy
upon the umbra of the universe
gravitating to everything under the sun?
Why are my thoughts drifting dreamily with all the colors
coming and going, slipping into night, as if they
were the empress of heaven’s old clothes (or lack thereof)
composing the coda of day coming to a close? only
to feel the reprise of her heart reverberating
in these vagabond eyes by way of my talking hands.