gazing at the moon

looking up
you say
the moon
is a shaved
pear set
on a black
bowl of
space
with a
zillion
stars
behind it,
around it,
below it.
and luscious
you
in your
black dress
and
barefeet
on the wet
grass,
pointing up,
pointing
up, but
i don't
look,
instead,
my eyes are
fixed on
you.