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The sky looks expectant,
Holding Her unborn Sun.
Premature baby
In Her twilight womb;
And the Moon is a ball of wax,
All blue and white,
Melting into the sea.
I take a deep breath
And blow out all the stars.
Doesn’t anyone
Dream around here anymore?
Muscular Oaks are reaching for Heaven
Like the Son of Dawn.
The wind circles around
Moaning against the trees,
Whipping and banging about
It’s lustering leaves.
A cream-bellied frog
Fills its vocal sacs
With the cool morning air.
The stomach
It tightens and he turns to the South,
Calling for the Shadow over Innsmouth.
The Sun’s claws scratch the Earth
As night drags Him away.
And all unearthly things
Come out to play;
For we are restless without you.
We are all neurotic;
You are semi-erotic
And hypnotic like a gash
Between the legs of a whore;
Mesmerizing like the Polar Star.
I’m exotic.
No, it’s only a bluff
That’s not the right word,
But it’s close enough.
Your hair on my pillow
Like a rich, black storm
My hands are cream on your coffee skin
I’m only touching your belly and arm
Don’t want you to get alarmed,
But you’re tongue teasing
And teething on my ear
Like you’re not afraid of fear…
Heavy and dreamy,
I anchor like dusk
Between your thighs.
This soil and water and sun and moon
You give to me
Is an arsenal to execute a poem so happy.
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Twilight and Children
