Moon Poem

 

The way your hips rise to me in perfect meeting

I can tell She has been with you since

the very first time. The very first time

man thrust above you She was there,

gently she held you, her fingers

stroked your hair and She whispered

into the growing ocean in your ears, waking

old friends, delicious secrets.

 

Now you hurry me ever deeper I am a bow

drawn slowly to its taut extent;

my breath coughs little clouds about the soft shape

of your face as I release my silver stream

into your deepest place of greeting.

 

The curtain lifts aside for breeze

to balm our tingling skin;

out thighs which slowly disengage have known

the suck and draw of wave on shore,

and now the calming surface of our deep

mirrors the equidistant moon in which we sleep.

 

Full Moon, July 4, 1993

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