Fingering the Moon

The sun is jealous, his reflective bride
Ranging from thin to wide, from dark to light
(O, swear not by the moon!), his husband’s right
Too easily undone, his daily pride
Nightly disdained as separately they glide
In cruel, uneven orbits. Now she is slight,
Mostly in darkness, her nocturnal flight
Bringing her faultless body to my side.

She loves me, claims she never wed that loon —
“He just assumed consent, for his own ends”
(A claim she still resolutely defends).
“He’ll understand all this, I promise, soon.”
So while I’m gently fingering the moon
She smiles for me, pretending we’re just friends.