The moon
She smiles at me
Above all billowous masses
Below us, buried deep
Once bitten fingernails
Furrow brows
And trouble sleep
Faces shine in blindness
Victims or voyeurs
She laughs
The moon
When she is full of breast
Illusory, impetuous
I am her child
Sycophantic
in my dream of flight
Compelled
by the coming night
I am ripened and
Given wings by the
Scent of parting lips