Bright harvest moon.
Twilight’s shimmer
Eager children, costume clad
Excited hands ruddy and smeared
Night of frolic gleefully greet
Shouts of ‘Trick or treat!”
Protected behind masks of plastic
ready to challenge the world
Meanwhile, in a world of their own,
stood the two
The Children of the moon
Excited hands anticipating touch
Under the silent cloak provided
by night
Words would cheapen and diminish
The essence of the epic stored in
the sight
Of the others eyes
The heated trace of his hand
along her jaw
His eyes softly whispered the song of her heart
His eyes softly whispered the song of her heart
Long after she had forgotten the
words
From her closed eyes filtered the
mark of a tear
Breathless ‘I love you’
Last words
Softly passed
Softly passed
Before communication
Was left to
The unspoken
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