An Ode of Opalescence
The moon is a pearl broach buttoning the night sky
Silken and chaste as your fingers fondle her dark dress
Tailored to your taste, my devilish escort —
The satellite is a debutante dreaming of you,
Circling the firmament of heaven but fancying
The stars of your eyes —
Pinkening the morning, even the dawn blushes before you
And beckons the sun from her immaculate shell.