the moon hangs, kissing the mountain. where does she go when the sun hides her, protects her?
he is the east, she is the west.
he, safe... known tradition and full history pages.
she, wild... unknown, dog-eared pages that sing in the wind.
he, the sun.
she, the moon.
it never pulled at their conscious minds to look behind their souls, to see the opposite member of space tickling their backs while they searched for the beacon of meaning they so longed for.
she found him. she found her sun on one spring night, posing as summer. she looked behind her so forgotten soul. she saw, beyond looking, she saw. him. the sun who rose and fell without her praise, without a second glance from her pained eyes that mimicked the ocean. she, the moon, stared into the sun. his heat and presence commanding her attention so brazenly, so directly, she stood still, hanging in her space while he sang to her. his rays upon rays of light sang to her like pages from her favourite book. her cold, untouched skin warmed and lifted in response to his command. for once she cannot look, she can only see. her sun. her sun once so safe and warm now cooling in the danger of her touch. a forbidden bond welded in the seams of space.
he keeps her safe, she keeps him wild.
the way i see it isn't necessarily the way you see it
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