Clowns at Night

On the prowl we whisper to moonlit drifters:
Where are the lovers back in your echoing beds?
Let’s fish these strangers out and return them to pillows,
but hint as they dock awake, You too might be a clown,
come catch us. before our ship zigzags off through the swell
and plunge of dares, hiccups to a shooting star
across the fading night where we toss behind
for those who can’t forget,
a fishing-line of burps,
a last barb, into the yawn
of dawn’s showoff sparkly tide.