Luna

Is it awfully hot up there on stage, my dear?
After all, you've got the brightest lamp of all
Trained upon your face at all times
Illuminating those wonderful dimples of your's

Does it make you nervous, my dear?
To know that we all might be looking
Even though most of the audience isn't
They just sit back and poke and prod one another
Too concerned with their own goings-ons
To enjoy the show right above their noses.

And how many of those stare, my dear?
See you turn away, then back again; your graceful movements
Flowing through misty veils, dancing amongst a thousand splendid specks of light
As you smile down upon us, in the brilliance of your visage
Even the clouds find it hard not to glow in your presence.
How many of those actually see what you do?

I just wanted to let you know that I do stare, my dear.
And I hope that you do not find it rude.
But you've had me enraptured since the beginning of the show
And have me rushing out to your every appearance
In the dead cold of winter, or the temperance of a summer's night
In the fade in of a blue wash illuminating the whole of your stage
Or the darkest black where you take your soliloquy
I'll be there to see it all, you wonderful performer, you.
Seeing you, and smiling.