Selene drives her moon chariot wanton wise
pulling men-hearts out to later feed mice
above green earth her palace so pale
from craters her whims all mortals regale
moonstruck by proxy, the wine in our glasses
moondrunk the chipmunk, evading owl passes,
Selene never parks her orb spinning high
without clouds for hitch-posts cloistered nigh
formed of Phoebe, or maybe old Theia
fished in by gravity, mystery, the moon sees us;
silhouette of substances similar, serene
man is kind love until shown his own spleen
shining her trademark, all night she delivers
roiling foul heavens, arming cupid's deft quivers
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