Dec 4, 2017 Original Poetry
Supermoon
©December 4th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The moon hung low, like a fruit
Waiting to be plucked, sucked dry,
An overripe yellow peach,
Dripping with pulpy pleasure.
In my car, on the highway
I saw the moon approaching
And I was filled with desire
For that which I could never have.
So much wanting tied up in
Impossible moon-craving,
Such need for forbidden fruit!
I gripped the wheel and drove on.
The night yawned and pulled me in
There were chores to do, with the,
Plump week only just begun.
I let the moon slip away.
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