The face in the moon is mine.
Held up like the clear-pool mirror to the world,
Who else would I see?
Untouchable, throwing a tangible aura of lust,
The moon draws the deep waters
Until tides spill over the strand,
Engulfing a lone traveler in the warm,
Salty stamped of waves,
And still, a sky away.
And from this distance I electrify,
Polarize every ganglion and plexus,
Frothing up madness and a climax
Of uncontrolled spasms in my wake,
Scraping away the busy needs of gut and lungs
Down to the deeper hunger:
Until even the male howls out from his loneliness,
Gasps on his emptiness as the drowned sucks at thin air,
Struggling in tentacles of undertow
Before his strength succumbs.
And in the spreading arms of pure light
Too pale for colors to overcome these shadows,
This gentle pressure calls to the army of wombs;
O let the blood rise with me
To flow with tides,
Washing away semen and seed.
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