Tonight there is a watermelon-slice moon
its juices dripping down to
ice the summer world in pale fructose
that children lick from their fingers
like the forbidden cordials
of capricious revelers.
Stars are the only frozen things in the sky.

vanilla girl with the cheshire smile
met boy blue in worn-out shoes
together they marveled at marbles and moths
and the things that moved when touched,
harvesting hide-and-seek peekaboos
like ice cubes.

Now he's a spectrum and she's a recipe
as they,
hidden in long-grass baskets,
listen to the echoes of footsteps
of children chasing fantasies.
Complexity melts solid beliefs.
The moonlight tastes like forget.