i thought you were my acronym

moon, you are shorter lived
repeating
it were pretense, love
a manageable mystery
scathing into something ethereal
rather
ironies fleeting
as foolish feet once dreamed
is nothing green in you?
leave me
white and haunted
moon-burnt and blinded
at prevailing
vertices separated by his eyes
moon, must you set?
your lady is too radiant
too arrogant
citrus as rings glow.
a mournful wine
passed and forgotten
found and reveled
moon.
grace us dancing.