Open up the moon

Open up the moon,

I can’t kill the static

in my tongue, she’s not here.

We used to walk in one

shadow, even on Mondays

when white orchids bloom,

with clouds tangled up so well.

Open up the moon,

show me twisting and turning.

I know your pillows kiss

your face, like I always do.

Show me your hot, erotic

insomnia— wet

though the bed is temperate.

Make it real, so that I

can understand the secret of the

moon, and fight the night’s spite.

For we talked through years to

time well spent, that day,

and I buried doubt under the sunset.

Everywhere we roamed,

our pheromones loose, flirting.

She’s my Capricorn,

my rum-bottle, and I

her drunkard, floating drunk.

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