I'm Standing On The Moon

I’m standing on the moon,

It’s terrifically windy,

A dusty storm,

And the dark is thick;

I can breathe so it must be a dream.

In the distance I can make out a small figure,

I know it’s you,

A knowing in the heart,

Not the mind.

We’re on the moon and it’s very cold.

The moon is dusty and cold,

The surface is full of small scattered rocks,

Random patterns that have a meaning I’m choosing to ignore.

In the howling dusty darkness you’re moving closer.

I can hear your voice calling,

But meaning is drowned out;

Then:

“It’s not cheese it’s chalk!”

I wake to your face over mine,

Hot sweet breath.

You’re intensely not smiling,

But searching.