Theorem For a Full Moon

Perfect circle, curves on point.
The sum of your squares
streaks my silver road ahead.
I crack the ice-blue line
that slits into the dark
and calculate a rule
for measuring your cool arcs.
The length, all points across
is equal to your smile,
stretching wide-squared tonight
and with my steps, you retreat
further on our glimmerpath,
equidistant on each footfall.
You know me, have done so long,
since my soul was born.
Angel's apple, angled above the blue,
you measure me, square-root of you.