Some poor fool

When asked what I do I replied I'm a poet, why the giggle and snide remark?
I hear echoes of nothing, and let them reverberate until they come spewing out of my lips in a tumble, seemingly random words that my fingers mumble and stumble upon and they all come from nothing, even if nothing is what they portray.

Unconnected thoughts and similes that slowly fade back into from where they came, these words that make something so meaningless feel so profound, strung in a line between me and the moon, this tryst of course will end real soon but these words will pull her back.

Ok, I know why you laughed, I'm no poet but these words I grew they stretched and reached the moon one night while I sung to them while I watched a shy face I thought I knew
and every night since she's smiled on me as I sat basking, paling and inhaling a loves light that came with bugs attached, but tonight she didn't show, her features gone, no cold lovers insipid glow.

If I ever look up and see her there again, I'll know she's taken some other poor fools words and used them to guide her back from her wane