Friday, November 4, 2011

August Moon

There are nights even now
that I long to crack the moon
against your heart
and watch it trickle
through your smile,
wrapping its thin ghost fingers
in the riot of your hair
that spills across my pillow
like the lazy demolition of a summer evening -
our clothes sticky sweet with sweat
clinging in whispers
coming undone in layers
your skin running riot over mine
imploring the stars to pin the night
and hold it close
in the sky above us.

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