Collected Night

The harvest moon
is actually a pink balloon, 
but you didn’t believe me,

out in a collected night,
a snakebite
and prohibition’s opposite 
goes hand in hand,
ale and ailment.

I recall the handcuffed moment, 
the red grape bliss,
carnal tangents,
an October blur so vivid-- 
police flashes in the mirror, 
your head resting on my arm
on our way out,

we drove off for poetry 
and the law put an end 
to our reckless romance,

but even inside jailed walls
I loved you,
outside of everything
I loved you, our broken hearts, 
temptation leading us
to foolishness,


unregrettable irresponsibility,

our half harvested moon 
and inevitable eclipse. 

-- Brain Harman