on the balcony, we are fastened to the horizon

as the moon begins its rise

she has the stereo loop the Blue Danube
the awe is silence within

my hand in hers, we do not move

we let the moon and music dance

ah, the popcorn is between us

we dip in now and then

as the moon struggles from its cocoon

erupts into view

i have this reoccurring feeling

the far superiority of holding buttered hands

to any river voyage

that in this world 
there is no better scenery existing

a full moon on the rise

the woman i love next to me

one lovely waltz enchanting it all

and her popcorn, that heavenly recipe
bursting in clarified bacon grease
add salt, sugar, garlic, smother in butter
makes the moon shine brighter
its reflected light holds her face
in an angelic glow
has my sorceress spiked the popcorn
is of little consequence
to the alchemy of these moments
buttered hands celebrating life's bewitchment 

2/21/19