Nighttime

I only miss you when it’s nighttime.

Morning, dusk, afternoon —

These are swell, ship-shape, fine.

I can handle the sun, just not the moon.

The full one makes me crazy.

When it’s thin I want to bite my nails.

I hate when it’s hazy,

When it pales.

I want a moon blood red.

I’ll even take an orange one.

Color, shoot straight to my head —

I’ll finally have some fun.

Short-lived —

The next night it begins again.

I’m missing you again.

The moon is a moon again.

It’s stopped acting like a sun.

Who do you think you are?

The moon said to me.

A werewolf?