Playing at Disinterested

Oh colored greys that bring a shadow's kiss
by casting misty gazes on love's sigh.
Where eyes do blindly view and tease dark bliss,
the moon a watchman beams intrigue's reply.

The traversed paths of weary feet to show
in stumbling steps dim glow does fail to stay.
So gleams the ghostly stare that grounds the crow
by skies of pitch to cloak and hide away.

But sun will cast a shadow on each thing
and flagrancy is voice to prying eyes.
The moon's lit reach does naught to light a wing,
yet puts a face on clarity's disguise.

And when the moon he flaunts his sultry soul,
revealing truth he claims tepid control.