xvii. Luna’s Back

Touch, these

lips

Trace, seams

on skin

Following the

freckled tracks

Across chest

Around neck

Down back

 

Cracking spines,

Ribs spaced

out like lines

Left, some stave

for a sonnet

Right, the

sketchpad for

a symphony

 

Drag us down,

as lover’s dew

drop

As passion’s lotus

blooms

As Suns meet

their Moon.

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