Enter now this moon,
parading past the shades
wearing only dusky intentions.
Her cloudy slip billows past her knees
and brazenly reveals her starlit muse –
gift for these words.
*
One-eyed heavenly wink,
a gesture of good-will,
brightness of day gone by,
she bares her breast
to let the night suckle its way
once more to day.
*
Her pale, pocked face has no rivals
but spills herself out as offering:
love that looks for mood,
art that looks for food,
bedsheets that turn to brood,
all for the gift of a song.
Picture: www.layoutsparks.com
Rob's Lit-Bits 
Loving that first sentence!
Aw shucks, ya done made me blush ‘n all…
I highly doubt it. 😉
Uh oh, I think you may have me pegged…crap.
And you thought you had so successfully retained your mystique…
Um, apparently not!