Moon Poem, first draft

The Moon conjectures herself a wintry rock covered in craters from years of celestial barrage. Shielded in dark space, seeming ostensibly alone, I look to her. She thinks her only purpose is to shelter the world from constant danger. The hand of God caresses her pale face from far across the Earth's shadow; a face which shines with honor upon the naive and cheerless world. She is at once a bedraggled cloth made anew. She turns departng and returning in phases, looking upon her shaded past unsure but determined to shake free of it. And always she finds favor with me upon her fullest gaze. Without her, the night is but a speckled drape meant to lull one to slumber. Or troubled by clouds, the night is caged in solitude. But her cool fingertip, upon first touching my skin traces a dream for me to follow. She gives life unto me with soft breaths that pass into my chest and nestle in my heart. With shut eyes in slumber, she finds comfort in my arms. I would sit up all night to shelter her upon the high pedestal where she reigns. Would she but come to me, grounded here where all I can do isstare upon her through a tired neck, there would be nothing left to suffer. I eat wholly of her fruit and wait to be consumed by a grinning mouth in return. At once, that she should transform herself from noun to verb she would feel the weightlessness of my love and be no more tethered to a world whose tides tug her in captivity.