what might the Moon seek in an afternoon
tided glass that speaks
cheeks to bless and the rest
of how animals sing
buried songs of belong
in a belief that bleeding
into each other
is never wrong
the crawls of this poem
here at the tickle ends
of what wind does inside us
when lingering
as tines might
mounding splendor
reaping the sow of seeds
when the quiet spill of us
fills the air with
no end or
no beginning
except the open bottle
on the table
this is where
the soft ripe bends
this is where
wine is joy
sky to ground
and knows to drink
all we have found
when Love means
to be a part
of another
we never said
never more
though we
wanted it all
through a door
or window
that fit us
the soft twine
of each sin
we've curled
to what thins
these fences
of let go
and what leans in
without looking
isn't that
what Love is about
to leap in an abyss
where limbs
are wings
are faith
isn't that
what Love is about
trembled
through thirst
through blind doubt
wade tilling
the divide of
our spirits
and what hides
in our humanity
if we wait to bloom
the sensual heavens
are petal hands
on the wheel
meant to drive
every smile
out of frame
in an arch
of an afternoon
well spent
riding desire
as time
we've tamed
as breathless
never wonders
where
we went
EJR (c)
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