January 31, 2018: Super Blue Blood Moon -Sleeping At Last
She feels for sunlight-
bends onto wildflower wrists,
holding you gentle
beneath the whole, bloody eclipse.
Some sweltering bath ghost
some cool, lacklove swan
Some girl with fake flowers
is caught in your charm
She tugs on the rivers
tucked under your wrist.
She kisses you softly.
You holster your fist.
She is gripping you bold because,
Flying is lonely
with those fresh water dawns and those
words like if only.
Your hands on her stomach,
she breathes between moans,
These people are muses,
and I am not so alone.
She has gone much too far, in the way of the light
to be told she is the product of a long day.
You are waiting for her to quit being polite,
tidal bearings on naked souls of simple clay.
She changes the song.
You muse about cold air.
I like these days long.
You pull dust from your hair.
PLUTO BLOOMING 