Speaking with the Moon

I wanted to do something for her so I did and when I did, and words emurred.  From their depth in a moonlit night, glancing at the moon dreaming of memory.   Where she's from I do not know; Heaven, down the street, round the corner, so near I reach out, so far I dream of midnight calls.  Her words don't speak to me, it is HER.  The girl a gift from heavens gate I long to call without thought or reason speaking, just letting the moon flow.  Where do I belong except beside her, her a river, me her calming plain.  How else could I be except beside her standing in unions tune mating notes with each beautiful word.  So interesting, so simple, yet so much in love.  One day the phone will ring, and I hope deep for sooner rather than later to hear her call.  Till then I will relax, layback, talk with friends and let music sing, hoping to one day speak with the moon again.