Convoluted...

the moon's face smiles down
                     from outer space  
 we're getting tipsy, drinking  
                           in the stars  
soon, we'll be chasing comets  
                   revovering satellites  
 a push on the swing, we're flying  
                       across galaxies  
   
we capture moonbeams  
            in a butterfly net  
  made out lacey curtains  
       as the smoke drifts like  
an effervescent rose, so delicate  
              it's reflection shatters  
              when mirrors grow cold  
 
we're get tipsy, spinning merlot  
                   high on a gold dusted doxy  
                  as the moth's wings smolder  
                
                       in the open flame...burning  
brightly  
              
   as the harvest moon laughs