Obiter Dicta

Would it not enchant you too;
That albedo of cratered rock,
Which lovers call a lovely glow
Wherever lovers pillow talk...
Underneath a billowing sky
Whenever vernal moons are bright
And youthful dreams learn how to fly
When they get whacked by lunar light
Descending through June's churning air
And fueling the romantic mind
With vivid thoughts beyond compare;
Some too cruel, some so kind
That your thoughts as well, may cohere,
A wee bit like a sonneteer?