I keep a moonbeam in each afflicted eye,
afflicted with neon and modern modes of light.
They gloss my pupils with the sheen of pearls
and shield their spheres from the evil spark,
a celestial armour.

In my sleep their silver seeps into my mind.
It arrays all figures with a cloak of white,
subduing vermillion, charcoal, and black.

When people sunbathe to glow golden brown,
I bare my bosom to Diana’s darts,
each lunar night.