for Luke on the eve of his 40th trip around the sun—
a communion of words—yours, mine and ours.
always, C.
p u l l e d through
the first time
braided stream brush
chase the curves
veracious
lunchin’ offline
changing her shirt
changed his mind
I am here, you are there
cradled breath and phthalo moons
stepping stones, negotiable
if we meet in between
breath will come easier
death will seem further
we’ll stand suspended
on this bridge
for longer than it takes
to have a deep bath
or lunch with a friend
throw our keys in the river
laced windswept writhe and whistle ties
trace constellations grey-green eyes
my vision locked on an image
slim-hipped, him, slipped
behind the lens
you’re staring, brother
unbrother me, sister
one steady question lead us
from the slew of self
to catapult in raptured heightened views
stranded in shafts of summer light
pulling petals
and other states of grace I cannot name
I do not have your wings
as sound is spun
I am caught up
glistering
in the calisthenics of this ritual
listening for you
as if there were another word
hush, lady, hush
pleated sheet of canvas
kneel impatient at the bow
jesus, you’re not even blinking
and all I can think of
is the sound
of leather pulled fast
through denim loops
a one-way ticket to Pennsylvania
rapped iambic
wrapped in rapture
check her master checkered crafter
parachuting radiation
pounding-pulse anticipation
to kiss
such that outside eyes
are out
of operation
bowed-in Black majesty
craved bubbles rake
at the sway of soft brows
moving this way and that
woo a hot spoon
deep-set deep-blue
softest song, you
what would that be like?
you’ve come
inside
dancin’ the loveline
careful fingers reach up
watching you, watching me
tasting you, taste of me
ahy, ahy, ahy
sweet jesus
the sun explodes inside this room
knowing
third eyes press
like the pad
of sated panthers
tongues far from foreign
across the top of eight o’clock bells
heads cradled, content
beside a blue dragon
that Mona painted on the wall
our song
is perched in the corner
strumming fingers circle play
wend brimming hymn
admission to hidden selves
blue-green sunshine
euphoria
imprinted
an indelible image
leaning forward
blinded black
in acts
of consummation
stem bends, surrenders
every inch of skin
curves I could ski down
warring with my inhibitions
soft-lipped cloth ripped
lifted
up-and-over
Monday night’s
broad-shouldered partition
split petals calling
yet with lips, only lips
her tears like soft rain
anointing my face
your face now etched in every
double strand
the palm of that strong hand
balm on the small of my lower back
always pulling
when she lay her legs out on mine
wet petals
unbuckled and tumbling
as rocking rails
cross carriage eyes
far away and thrumming
she sounds like me
across and ocean
as the gods
gather a handful of flaxen sky
you’re running
with your green hat
folded in your hand
reaching I press my body
even closer to the dusk of it
my cup of Yin
softening and hardening
between your attic
and Morrison’s cafe
straddled bare and mirrored grey
scale the walls in rhythm they
stile pilfers thread and fabric
baggage left in London
five hundred thousand minutes
careen into this
one
just to clarify
just the one
fine-tipped shrine sipped
standing still and spinning
wholly held and had
by that British guy
button-fly rent, awry
kneeling as knot is knit
I’d still hike your hills and valleys
draped and naked
one hungry rung
after another
pull the oars
mouth in warm blue
the sutured moon
clad in scant cirrus
clings to her
night blinded visions
of you
a young monk with broken thumbs
love generously heroine
and as the clocks vanish beneath
I will remember
every day
outstretched upon the other
chalice lip-to-lip
the be-all meeting of mouths
as we are heaved
beyond the gates
of this brief ceiling
and
every minute that
we’ve won
© cs moon
