With Heaven Above You There's Hell Over Me

We both stare at the same moon. I stare up at it as it brilliantly glistens off of my eyes, but you're not here to admire it. The warm twilight breeze sifts through my hair as I swing my legs off the porch railing. A lonesome dog howls at the drunken moon, and if it were socially acceptable, I would sing along. These are the nights I tell myself to savor the feeling because I know I'll miss it come winter. When you lean your head back and gaze up at the ember sky, whose face do you see?