Stars and Stones, Moon and Mountains

i do not want to moon

or its rays

that turn some forbidden fire-footed dance on water

for once the moon is down, what should i do with it?

rubbermaid is not prepared

and all it could do is

bob on my soup as a great matzo ball

you soil your one knee down with the bullshit you spout

and offer to call down the stars

catch them in your fists

and set them in gold

for me

as the reminder of

“the diamonds in my eyes”

what would i do with the stars?

glue them to my journal like cosmic glitter

or season my brown rice with them

how clever are your gifts?

yes, these familiar items

tired novelty trinkets of affection (effection?)

words inspired by soft radio hours

spouted by rhyming fairweather sometimes poets

who thumb guitars and clear their throats into microphones

I have apparently never been typical when it comes to dating.  Forget the diamond, I'd rather have a book.