you --
a concept i can't place my fingertips on,
when i use them to dial,
break open a smile
that was meant for the night when the moon hung herself
over wetlands and dry sands that our nostrils inhaled.

but how does it drip,
like solemn light of moon,
in a rhythm of heartbeats whose pace has no pattern?

still, it marches past bloodstream,
returning from trenches
dug with a razor
or visa
or spoon.

scooping up lunar white
in smiles like a mother's pride;
her soldier's home and satisfied --
he's limbless but he's loved.


maybe i could follow suit.


quicken my breathing,
unlatch all my shutters,
send word to my mother
that her son's lost his mind.

and what pity would crawl through my twice unlatched wood frames;
i would bleed just to sate its poor hunger and thirst.

in the droop at each corner of my bottle-thick basement,
where the rain gathered years before,
now would my pride --
in puddles of puffed chests and firm hands in pockets.
i would mop it up weekly as to keep with the tides,

but my arms can't fight pull from my sister's pale body
as she tugs at wet wrists, ankles, anything slim.

how her green eyes would yearn so much just to be puddled
with something less weak than her moonlit resentment
that she lives her life freezing with no arms to embrace her;
solar lover can chase her, but never catch up.