Configurations!

Elate anon, meridian moon;
High doxy to the zenith wind,
You lower yourself way too soon
As if somehow your brilliance sinned
In its accustomed midnight tryst
With all the clouds and zephyrs above
Every lowland prurient mist
Provoking wanton whims of love
As no alternate airs could do...
Save for the humble candle flame
In its accordingly golden hue
Giving romance a reference frame
Of heavenly light, as high and warm,
As Aphrodite's Maidenform!