I am new.  Insatiable.  Blue as the moon,
memorizing
                         each
                         turn
while making ready for wake of morn.
       My desire extends
beyond the flesh.


My hands
bless what's becoming.
                     as the stars strategize
                    layout of their luster.

                     I have never spoken, taken, clung this way,
                                                so, I linger
                                                         longer,
withstand the ache awhile.

And with words and heart poured out,
                                            though light pursues,
I am grateful for the dark tonight.
I
                miss your skin already.

My pretense presses up against your chest,
                                      and everything
                                that was mine,
I plan to leave with you.
       You will happen upon it later,
                        and in that moment,
                               I hope you don't remember where it came from.
                               I hope you see it new;
                                                          that nothing's missing.

Somehow,
              we have circled through each season,
and as
fall again
 approaches
and the air smells wet and rare,
                       I am tempted by a different telling.
                       I want
                                to stay.
Aware of the shifting, I am slow today but greedy,
                      still hearing summer's heavy heart beat
                      still warmed by her superior heat,
                                and though,
I've said before
that
I am quite well able to withstand the fire,
           there is exception in this flush.
                         Even
                               now, I am
                                            mastering the rift
                                               and tallying the loss as I
lay down pen.
So silence me with your stroke before spring sidles in,
                                 before winter takes her
                                                         toll.
And later,
in the chill of in between,
all this bygone galore
will no doubt
                                         defend you
from the bite of blight.

I will keep you even in the wilderness and pray you off to sleep.
I will share my joy, send it with the wind,
             and when budtime
                             beckons,
take flight.