moonspeak
your skin …
cornflow’r in the moonlite
through louvers that
slice you to tender shards
of opalescence
arranged like piano keys on
Egyptian percale
the sea of sheets we so
often drown in …
“oh baby” -
the way you say those words -
soft candle puffs
as if turning flame to wisps
coyly chasing my name from
where I thought it safe
to its utter peril upon your lips
and its baptism by the
kiss that slays …
my rapture is no longer my own
it exists only in chaos
at the source of the divine -
the wellspring
that indescribable place of
wilding wonder …
and yet …
at this moment of contentment and
joy and security -
where we are timeless and true
where every hour is midnight …
a tear leaps from my chin to its doom
unnoticed by you with
my back strategically to the moon …
because I know with certainty
(though I don’t know HOW)
that someday I’ll be alone -
someday I’ll be drenched by the same moon
remembering this very moment
remembering that I knew
that solitude would be my fate …
that I would one day ache
for the gentle, whisp’ry way
you said …
“oh baby”.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, January 24, 2024
|