Captive Lunacy

The lady lifts
Her languid hand
And sets the moon adrift.

She does not care
For patterns,
Just a swift
Fleeting nocturne
Swirling in the shuttered air.

Her touch a mere caress,
a finger’s breath of time,
a lush swirl of spare
Feelings used to lift
A dismal crescent to new heights
Of slightly stilted madness
Through a softly pulsing rhyme.