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de Tilt

Standing in a crater in my leaden shoes, I am held there by more than
gravity, she's been hit so many times with heavenly abuse, quite a
history of catastrophe, but the footprints on her face are merely made
by man, she's is shining despite the rough terrain, I think she picks
her teeth with the staff of a flag, she plucked from her cheek with
playful disdain. Glowing survivor, gorgeous in orbit, throwing a
spotlight over the chasm, glowing survivor, gorgeous in orbit, casting
her shadow, over the sea (heavens' at end)...Geologic samples held up to
the light, teach very little of her life, astronomers deny what they can
divine, by merely gazing up into her eyes, every lunar cycle she begins
a new, not afraid to show herself in full, the man is a myth, lovers
share a view, all god's howling dogs to her are dutiful. If you come at
nightfall, you can see all her magnitude, her tidal tears have fallen,
reflective of the sun, bearning her gratitude.

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