{a remix}
The moon’s in a mood,
(imagine her wild, midnight
-maroon)
shaky-swoon-spooned over
sturdy skinned knees,
driven breeze.
This is her
hour of burning hunger,
quiet storm. She’s ivory sea,
and I can’t quiet see
her center.
Praise these tiny voices
of the sky, these hellion
sighs:
(loves me, loves me
knots) tied toxic
to the con
-fines of a morning’s
flush, the blush of sun.
Simon says we’re broken:
unspoken brave against
this fractured loud. Rub
-bled forgiveness, in be
-tween. We’ve seen
hints of silence. We’ve held
the tiny findings of our hearts
to long lost phrase. We’ve raised
our just-us league of sorrows,
swallowed deep. We’ve
begged your pardon, trust;
hardened tired veins.
Forced our scars into a sembled story.
……………………………………………Glory.
………………………………………………Us.
..
In November, we poemed. This is the one with all the prompts.
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