Thieves And Menschen

She's precocious; a milky sky, a moon-white opal's radius Her velvety hand of winter calls beckoning to all, who'll pause? In their stalactite breaths, outdoors ‘O sees her on her footfall-haunches. Like a woodland lily unearthed. Within these layered satin sheets. Men, in their time-honoured way came to believe they were kings and princes, thieves and menschen but they're just not her Kinsmen's children. They're not holy in sea-bound prayers- to her, the goddess of the moon. They're just dumb-fed flower bees. Drunk on pollen - the sun's doubloons.