Damn Crickets

Crickets outside my window
interrupt a maribou lined dream
of sandalwood and musk,
your recipe of scent.
A crescent moon grows
on the first night of autumn.
Somehow I find beauty
in the way it nibbles
at a cloud, midnight snack.
You're somewhere, I know.
Maybe looking at the sky
cursing crickets that interrupt
your dreams of a crooked halo
and fishnet stockings,
my recipe of sin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As I drifted off to sleep last night, I heard crickets.