You think it is only me,
who’s mad for the moon?
That treacherous, intoxicating
lump of clay
entrancing the unwary wanderer?
An unsteady, carefree lover,
who will not provide or even remember...
Do you think it is insane
to drench in delight
in silvery showers
that appear and disappear?
Well then let me tell you
I know the longing of the moon.
I know what ripples in his heart
when his rays melt in my eyes.
I hear whispers that only lovers can
hear.
Look, it is not just me.
Thirst is a sign.
It is a thread that connects me to you.
It is a road that takes us home.
It is a love-call.
The river that plays and gushes,
secretly longs for lips
that are thirsty for her waters,
for a mouth that knows her sweetness.
When I am quenched so is the river.
No, it’s not just me.
When I swoon in the silver of the moon,
the
heavens shiver with delight.
