you will go to the moon in poetry

The moon, above all else, is above all else.
She hangs up there languid and waiting.
People have been there but only for a little while
only pushing the limits of what we can do as humans
even broke her haughty loneliness for even a
scant handful of hours.
She will continue to laze up there in the nightsky
while you linger on her beauty but she will be
lamenting equally that she can only reflect
someone else’s light and the distant between us
her and all of us, her overnight admirers.
She will pull at the tides without thinking it
without knowing she is doing it at all.
If you were to mention to her
the waxing and the waning of the Earth seas
she would respond
“Yeah, that’s beautiful and weird, what does that?”
If you told her that she did, she would
never believe you, never believe you could actuate
such hypnotic charge from so far way on accident.
The moon, above all else, is above all else but
she is waiting for someone to share her space with.
She does not know that she is airless
does not know that she lacks the food for us
she doesn’t understand what breath or hunger even are.
She waits for us, regardless, and we
well, we await her too.