of ebony, slightest
fingernail edge pinching
the dark. She sparks a low
hook, waxes forth, swollen by
invisible spill. When she’s had
her fill, she wanes, carving her
-self from fat balloon back to
golden smile, filing so much
eraser dust loose, stars for
miles. She’s a miracle; a
mystery, too. Is she
Written for Quickly, Day 21.
the moon never sounded so feminine, sensual and lovely.
loved every word from “back to golden smile” to “is she finished when she’s full or new?”
I wanted to bask in her moonshine and yours.
🙂 Love the shape, which you are so expert at! This could be a metaphor for a mother as well – is she full when she’s full or new?