If the way I think about you

If
the way I think about you would amount to anything, the red moon
would quit its job for a night. It would slide down as a woman to
the pub you usually frequent. It will be wearing a dress,
red and appropriate, with
one leg exposed to the resting world. After ordering a drink,
it would look around and see you
alone this time, a rare occurence. It would think of you lonely
for someone, maybe me. then the moon
would be lost in its own reveries, as if it were human, as if it also
has suffered a loss as seemingly insignificant as we have.