Lunam, Et Stellas

I am as        the
moon hiding to
     and fro amidst
the       stampede
of stark-black clouds
        (or is it the sky?)

       You are my stars,
collectively,
as if you    cannot
swing too              far
               from my       orb.

When people look
at       us       they'll
            see that our
lights are

one.

Sol Die

Had me believe it was a Sunday,
      she moved with such a reverence.
      It somewhat leads me from a fray.
      How I clung to her day by day:

She's happy but she's crying, how absurd;
      the eagles bring her her supper.
      How absurd. She likes but dislikes love,
      but loves in return. How absurd.

The pleasure from her whispers, I would gladly die lives for;
      she does not boast a tear when her sorrow comes with fear.
      Like sunsets in Paris, and her lovers, too,
      nothing does compare to you.