Ripe Moon

Our emotions are full

when the moon is high.

Ripe am I

in your heart and mind.

Over the fields,

the arms of the trees,

sleeping and dreaming.

The northern skies

believe in southern breeze.

The breeze weaves and

weaves

around our bodies entwined,

but separate and solo.

Midnight is right,

the light between leaves.

You’ve awoke in the morning.

Your feelings,

so many of them

underneath the bright moon,

now clear in daylight,

together and simple.

And this is why I cast

dark pearly eyes to the sky

when you are sleeping.

Glorious Lady

That glorious lady
came calling to us.
And we knew she would.
Tits to tits,
fingertips to nipple,
then
mouth, teeth, lips to nipple.
After we’d spent 3 weeks
hurting and hating each other,
that powerful, almost full moon,
on her way out,
she called us together, she beckoned.
Two women.
That’s how we do.
Cleaned our heads.
Cleared our hearts.
Set us to the tone of oak tree shadows.
Around her home,
the backyard.
Her strong, soft, determined,
yet gentle lips
found my smooth-skin shoulder.
Her sultry face, suave mouth,
maybe the only that can.
Then yes, I said yes to her,
yes to us,
for a moment suspended
between gold light
in navy night and those waffty clouds,

and the moon called us like
animals.

Good lord,
what will we do with each other?
Our animalism seems certain.
For that glorious lady
showed us.
Two women.

You know, the moon comes ‘round
over and over.

With The Moonlight

You tell me with
moonlight.
What others cannot say.

I’m woman, but I’m
not woman.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m sex and sexuality.

My eyes shine
bright and jeweled
in night
glancing up there,
lofty clouds sail.

You looked,
saw my brunette hair.
It’s fire,
shaded and shaped,
upon your vulva.
This formula of heaven,
my tongue splits upon you.

You looked.
You remembered.
My eyes still shine.
You don’t want to see them.
You can’t unsee them.

The good lover
you wanted.
A body forged with the
beats of your heart.
The moonlight carried
your cries to me.

I’m here

under the three trunk oak.

Cigarettes In Angel Land

It was cool.
We shared cigarettes,
two cool b^tches together,
sharing and drawing
lip to lip.
We’d never really done
that before, the sharing…
now 3 weeks after our breakup,
a late night awake
sitting together.
So the full moon comes out,
she’s beaming and beaming.
Suddenly we admitted,
we wanted each other —
two cool b^tches together
on that floating night.
If the moon could steal
what were previously
our differences; it did.
Full light obliteration.
And so moments later,
after she kissed my shoulder,
we f@#%ed
and made love —
raunchy, sensual, pining, and sweet

in that pure and breathless
woman to woman way.

Earthling lovers,

worshipers,
attendants,
tending, tending,
moaning.
The moon!

I will always love you.
I believe you know this.

Under The Lamplight

Right under the lamplight,
she kissed me right
under the lamplight.
Her arms were big,
they were strong,
they held me right.
Her curled black her
one with the air,
one with my wants,
melting my blood from
leather to lust.
She could turn me over
and over all night long
as her simple frilly girl,
play with my skirt and legs.
As we kissed she trailed
my soft skin
on her fingertips.
The small of my back.
Solid and soft.
Wave in.
Wave crash.
Wave out.
Full moon beaming,
floating,
dominion on high,
coming ‘round clouds.
I gasp. I moan. I gasp.
Tallgrass by the side wavering
in breeze.
My breath.
Her lips.
Her tongue.
She kissed me right under
the lamplight.
Her hand in my hair,
the other on ass.
The moon pulled the light.
The moon pulled the light.