𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞

𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝

i walk out into a beautiful starry night
the frigid cold has left
now the sloe blossoms with pale petals
      beckoning the crickets to chirp and lightning bugs to glow

fortnight, the blackthorn berries are ripe for plucking
hence, i hurried outside,
wicker basket in arms,
when i saw you

the most beautiful sight to bear
midnight; stars shining bright.
why, the corona borealis sat atop your fine frame
fit, for the queen who choreographs the galaxy 

and, oh! how lousy i looked!
i still had flowers and leaves scattered in my unkempt hair
and i was wearing the simplest of brown dresses
      without a hem, no less!

"i apologize for disgracing your bountiful halls, selene
please, let me redeem myself
for i could serve you the finest of liqueur sloe gin you've tasted,"
i stumbled over my words, then sought to fulfill the task

rushing inside, i wash and extract the juice from the berry
      and stew it to a thick and fine mead, then i smile to myself
a little cinnamon, sugar cane and mint leaves added, surely will 
      make a quality vin ordinaire

dionysus must have blessed me to-night
      one sip of my creation, and i knew.
the young god, i pour a glass to you
a simple but grateful sacrifice to my patron

then i got dressed; simple, but sleek
mossy green trousers and a cotton shirt with puffy laced sleeves will do
i plaited my hair with shards of quartz-
hopefully i look appealing to beautiful moon goddess

i emerge from my hut, bearing gifts:
a mini apricot pie, picked fresh from my garden,
some of my mushroom and chives stew
and my promised blackthorn wine

"forgive me, my lady," i knelt
"i had to use sugar, for i had not let the wine rest
      as this was an abrupt homage."
the stars grew brighter, cueing me to set my offerings

a ladled bowl of soup was placed adjacent of me
and i pour wine into a rusty gold goblet i
      ran into while digging for treasures
when soft footsteps interrupted the quiet of the night

and, there, selene stood in front of me
stunning with mystique, crowned with nebulae 
clothed in silver, with an iridescent sheen
smiling brightly as the moon itself

"my starlight, you didn't have to do this,"
she spoke softly, gentle like a cool summer breeze in the dark.
she sat elegantly infront of my bowl of soup,
gazing ever so fondly at me

"my lady," bowing my head respectfully, my heart racing
she only smiled, telling me to serve myself.
i scoop stew and supply pie
all the while admiring the goddess before of me

she lifted my stew to her full lips
       and she hums approvingly
my mother once told me staring is rude
but, i assure you, keeping a gaze from the moon is a herculean feat

my soup was bland- lacking of thick cream and buttered corn
the pie left a tart aftertaste, after sitting in my icebox
howbeit, the wine out-showned the meal-
pride myself, as it was that my abilities had not failed me