His face was rapids over rocks,

White caps ever moving fluid,

Shallow breathing,

Shadows falling in the craters of the moon.

And you could know the motion of 

The planets in his turning,

And you could know the lunar day 

By the the way he switched

And changed his mind.

And he could look 16 or 51,

75 or 8,

And I thought he was great,

As long as his bright side shone

Towards me.

As long as I could leave his dark side

Well enough alone,

He was, and

We were

A force to be reckoned with.

-jenn