Isn’t that what the moon is antonym of?
Refined, its sugars are absorbed into the bloodstream
what little is left of breath, of light that longs to become one
I am cobalt etched, a glorious panoply of sensual scrawling(s)
ranging to mauve-blue, from buttercup yellow to rose.
Bend me over to the edge of the moon
as body arches toward its direction, its ways—
the virtuous, the chaste, the naïve, the unsullied aren’t afraid
of what sends shivers down the spine;
a leaf in a hurricane,
we are equipped to run miles in a universe of pleasure and pain.
Nobody notices it at first;
pristine, its crevice large lures and later covers with memory.
I dare not cross the bridge knowing “never,” is a garland
waiting on the other side—
like an addicted smoker who inhales poetry, I can’t get enough
of his verse;
the moon, dressed in red velvet, in turn exchanges a smile.
Photo credits: Aaron Westerberg, “Kimono.” Pinterest
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A Skylover Wordlist: Shiver, bridge, refine, etch, leaf,
cobalt, pristine, garland, drape, never 💝
Posted for Open Link Night #274 @ dVerse Poets Pub