Moonlight & Dust

Desire and lust could easily be disguised as “moonlight” and “dust”, but a thought, as pure as this love, could by no means be construed otherwise. I, however, am the same child of poetry and mystery— who denies speaking with certainty, still hiding beneath the vagueness of moonlight and dust.

I am the same child who frolics with words— like strings on my fingertips; as if words are the forbidden fruit to a naked body; like a labyrinth to a thought. I embroider words into a veil of courage for my delicate soul. I am neither truthful, nor insincere to half-reveal a thought and half conceal it with metaphors.

Between poetry and purity: Honey would drip from lips that kissed a wine glass, but fountains spring in sober bosoms. And I have found honey and wine, and moonlight and dust, powerless against this love that is infallible.