Idly, I sit at every full moon, admiring your image.
Mooning over the very soul,
that twisted my face into grimace.
Eight moons have died since we moaned
together as we growled and howled with every thrust.
Now, I get mooned by other boys.
Jested about how forlon I am.
Falling asleep alone to the symphony of crickets.
On the balcony, I wait endlessly till the next full moon.
Diana of Rome, be kind enough to moon my wolf.
Hecate, make haste from Greece and come to my aid.
For the libations and adorations, keep the full moon in one piece.
Till my Aphrodite returns howling and growling.
Feeding my lust.
As we moan to saint our sins with every thrust.
Thank you for reading.
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