The sun she became a woman
and spread her hot thighs
for the young man in the moon
and oh what a wild child
that Earth is.
He never gives you the cold shoulder like Mercury,
the orgasmic war cry of Mars,
tantalizing sighs of Venus,
runs cold, rock-strewn rings around you, 
or up and disappears like dark, irrelevant Pluto. 

Earth lives in blood and sorrow
and the ecstasy of his history
until he turns over in bed at last
and does himself in,
suicide by spoil. 

Originally published in Mad Swirl