Moonlit Tangents

I can’t ever do the writing 
that I had planned to do, 
dearly wanted to do, 
because these tangents 
keep taking me deep 
into a moonlit forest instead. 

The sheer curtain over my window 
is magic, I think... 
draping the softness of the world 
over my heart, 
a whisper of light and lace 
that quiets what aches 
and lets me rest 
as the evening slips away. 

I can’t ever do the writing
that I had planned to do,
dearly wanted to do,
because these tangents
take my hand,
invite me to dance
beneath the starlit sky.

When I pass that soft-lit space,
my heart turns to that sliver of curtain,
a thin breath of night breaking through.
I inhale, quietly pleading,
this time…
let me see Midnight there.

I can’t ever do the writing
that I had planned to do,
dearly wanted to do,
because these tangents,
they close their eyes,
let my spirit guide.

There’s a softness to her,
one that pulls you in and wraps you up,
invites you closer,
her presence makes room
for your truest self to breathe.

And maybe that’s it.
Maybe that’s the writing
I was always meant to do.
writing that drifts ...
with the quiet dance of a curtain,
with the moonlight on my skin,
with my heart finding its wings
in the beautiful tangents
that lead.