|
Moon-Baller
Open up your mouth and
we’ll press our lives together.
In the future you’ll stop breathing,
and in a loving way we either will or will not have been kind enough to each other in this life time.
Remember the night we thought
we heard an owl telling the future? Remember, no matter how hard we looked, we couldn’t find its two pale orbs among the camellia’s dark branches.
What I meant that night but
said badly or didn’t say at all was:
your b-baller’s touch was
like a stone-fruit – hot from the sun, tender, but with an aftertaste of rocky indifference – traces of planet, mineral, amethyst, a hint of dry river bed.
I think I am terrified of being
left alone with a spade on a small, sweet-skinned moon where the view is beautiful but nothing will grow.
So, I’ll kiss you on your
big pink mouth, but leave before I learn it’s me who’s not fit for life.
|