A taste of the moon

I wander in a crescent lake,

and massage the wrinkles of a full moon.

I wish I were a white snake,

slithering in the yellow shaded lagoon. 

I wish I were a milk shake, 

dripping onto the lake in a mellow tune.

Night turns the moon into an angel cake,

and hands me a silver spoon. 

I scoop a spoonful of the lake,

and taste a mouthful of prune.