At the bottom of the Moon

bare feet trod moonlight to dust

fine gravel texture

uneven to skin,

left behind the idle machines

that make dreams work,

gentle pace

aching feet,

silence is non negotiable

it fills the dark of night,

feeling of solitude

encroaches,

limbs torso illuminated,

lift lips to light

drink some,

as if pouring wine

down the throat.

nagging worries deferred

into a deeper region

of subconscious ,

as the interlude begins

properly

3wordwednesday

 

Astronaut Skin

with the affair

forgotten days found new meaning

flavored by excitement,

she would wax

that private place

no longer forlorn,

those telegraph wire tremors

shuddered messages across skin,

breath and kiss

find in intensity sharp reality,

her altar intended

with emotion rendered voice

pleaded for her to find

solace again with him,

he had hewn time

into a molded shape

of his own creation,

no intention to drive her away,

yet did,

lit a temptation fuse,

and she placed a fork in

the moon and tasted,

manic moments gazing skyward,

feeling naked flesh

lit by lunar extraction,

each minute as paused sand

desire the crown

between the two

sharp as thorns,

a clash of obligation

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