A Confession to a Crimson Crescent
O, companion of this hurried night, This ruby crescent, bleeding light, You grace the asphalt's fleeing scroll, And soothe the tremors in my soul. The fleeting town, the highway's line, A world that's yours, a world that's mine - Yet through the glass, my solace came. Your constant, red, and gentle flame, On whom I hang my heart's own frame. And yet, O moon, I must confess, Despite your gentle, crimson grace, A silent guilt begins to press Upon this hurried, heartbound space. For as you hang, a smouldering shard, My every thought is working hard To race past you, and find its rest Upon a far more lovely breast. Your fire is borrowed, a sunlit debt, A quiet beauty I’ll not forget. But she…my love… she is the sun, From whom my very day is spun. Her smile could make your glow grow pale, And set your scarlet light to fail. So forgive me,Moon, if in my mind, I leave your steadfast gaze behind For while you guard this lonesome bus, Thoughts of her outshine the both of us...
