The clouds slowly moving through the sky as if they were the breath from her bossom on a cold winters night. Slowly morphing from grey to silver as they approach her vibrant light. Hidden from view as the clouds roll over yet her pressence radiates a warmth thats urgent and sense of freedom that's intoxicating. As I look into the mirror in the sky I envision her lying there as the sheets carres her soft succulent skin, flowing over her curves giving just a glimpse of the beauty beneath. Her power eminates and engulfs me, even the seas move to a rythm they themselves do not understand, all for her. Hidden beneath the layers of woven silk is a gift that is seldom seen, a beauty that the eyes cannot grasp, only the heart can see and it's power and beauty can move the world like nothing you've ever seen. True beauty you can't understand. True beauty you can't control. True beauty is free, the way it's supposed to be. My dear, true beauty is you, did you really think this poem was just about the moon.   

By Matthew branton