The Sun rose;
Supercilious
He bared his golden sneer
It glistened;
Sanctimonious
There haloing his sphere

Undaunted,
Delicate,
And, new;
The Moon hung to the day
A dry white stamp
Upon the blue
That still clung to the gray

The Sun,
Punctilious and proud,
Grew weary of her presence;
The crescent,
Slight,
Upon his cloud;
His sky host to night's peasant

So,
Night by night,
He gave twilight
To slake her mighty thirst
Then,
Crumbs of sun
To gorge upon;
Enough that she might burst

And,
Still, she lingered into morn
To drink the honeyed dawn
But,
Sun contained his fiery scorn
To fuel her embonpoint*

A fortnight passed,
And, then at last
His efforts were rewarded
His joy, begot;
The Moon stayed not
It seemed she had been thwarted

But,
To be sure,
He wanted more
Evidence of defeat
So,
In the skies,
He'd leave his eyes;
Most cunning and discreet

When nightfall came
He saw the Moon
Her face, voluminous
Her visage made him
Sob and swoon
So fair and luminous

Lamenting
All his spitefulness
Resenting only he,
He figured, "What delightfulness,
Repenting for my deeds!"

So,
Every night
He leaves her light
Until she is replete,
And,
When she's full
As virgin wool,
Allows her to retreat



*Dictionary.com Word of the Day. Better than using it in a sentence, I guess...

I wish I knew how to quit you...