A la Mond

A late night encounter with Gibbous form left pondering, passing, pilfering thoughts at my feet, grounded in practicality, away from the lofty heights of the sky. Staring up at this hunchbacked figure, it became apparent that my attentions were on more earthbound matter, thus robbing Gibbous of her symbolism, and realizing she is no more than the glow of another star; a waiting figure to my eye and imagination.

Recognition of the longing for desire left the possibility of such in perilous chance, recognizing the mere fact that the yearning for possibility outweighed the probability of fact, and the clear hypothesis one should reach upon given events. Gibbous's form granted laughter through sifting thoughts, lunacy being but a guise to pardon illogical motions whose outcome is all too logical in the ever-happening, never-changing ebb and flow.

Defined by the hopeful promise of a future, the unpardonable acts of the past became glossy with the sweat of mundanity and the chemical process of contact. Attributing a timeline that does not--shall not--exist to overlook the feet which walk forward, the head that stares at Gibbous and ponders upon what others have placed on her form.

Used for their own purposes, she has condemned men to beasts, both hunted and hunter. Drawing forth blood in both violent and natural processes, the sanguine sanity which she has apparently robbed from people only so much reverence for the processes we do not understand. Gibbous no more robs humanity than the chance encounter with perfidious lips.