A longing for sunburn

The moonlight casts a lonesome silhouette
of where your body would bring the picture
to life in this humanly incomplete puzzle, 
pillows and blankets jaggedly shuffled and
stuffed into vacant cracks, and I dream that the chilled
shadow across my waist is your arm fondly
acknowledging the small of my body as the 
dark wanes with the bright side of the moon. 

Until you have come panting at my door like 
a drenched wayward dog desiring for more than a bone,
the moon will remain as my witching hour lover. 
Until you arrive back home with light shining 
in your every cell and become my beacon of warmth, 
my treasured fiery sun boy, until I witness you rise in the morning light,
I will weep like a widow in the dawn
and be silent under my galactic twilight shawl.