The moon is swollen
Draped in erasers.
I pull her across my life
Creating a new tableau
Of deep soft blue.
My inner gypsy
Sees the moon tonight,
Beaming on the hollows of
His skin, breathing.
Silver, silken, butter
Warming. I see
the pool of flesh,
wanting.
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2 comments:
This is not done yet
the word eraser is not the right word and it is the roughest rough -
this is the tough part.
The effect of nature on my heart is that it releases that space in it where a loved one once resided and as the moon shimmers in my eyes or the surf spray sets curls in my hair, I long to share it and that's the wanting. In fortunate times it is just wanting the one who already resides in the heart.
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