Full Moon Fever

I'm feverish
talking more than usual
(hardly seems possible, I know)
and entirely without a filter.
I type all the words
and then I delete half of them -
the world shrinking back to its usual size when I do so;
contained,
breathable,
navigable.
I feel almost unhinged,
but remain connected more securely than it seems.
I flutter in the wind,
free and wild,
but not quite out of control.
No, I like to say
I have no self-control,
but I exercise an
utterly extraordinary
amount of self-control
every
(damn)
day
when I manage to refrain from touching you at all,
let alone in all the places I want to.

The moon is fat, round, glowing -
filling the horizon with its cool, reflected sunlight.
And I am tossed about by its gravitational pull on the earth -
the tides of me ebb and flow,
a calm lapping of waves on sand
and a great arcing surf,
each in its turn.