Prototype bird

Your swollen face to me is such pale-grey delight,
Moonam, my moon, do I in vain yield to your sight?

Where the skies no longer confine me to a sturdy blue,
is where I feel my company is overdue.

I wish I´d possess feathers dense with ardent lust,
made on the premise that reaching you is a must.

On offer I have no less than a tiny piece of heart,
that yearns to be filled with love a la carte.

Though my ideal is high and faint,
I´d never compromise on earthly taint.