While the Sun Slept

We’ve gone round and round. The sun had returned and so did he, but it was not the fickle sun of March, teasing daffodils in the damp, no, it was the sun of July; brilliant in blisters, and brown skin. It promised more sun to come.
We woke the skies, as the red fired ball succumbed to the moon, which hung on every word we whispered, while the sun slept.

Speaking In Moon

Memories made
A wordless vow
Like a stooped old man’s shuffle
Across my brow

Hours of lips
Like lace intertwined
Made me deficient
A minus sign

Spun in the sun
And late afternoon
Recited on stars
Speaking in moon

Have come here again
In need of review
Memories made
Me kissing you

One Bright Star

What more
To ask for?
If you want to own
The moon with me
We’ll place a stake
And string
The stars
Like paper dolls
Hand in hand
Through cosmic halls
Since with you
The world’s not two
Collage petite
And heaven bound
By which our feet
Know not this ground
We have fused
Me and you
Some how
From afar
We are now
One bright star

Bright Star

Twenty Toes

I heard you
 if I may?
 from head to toes
And all points 

As if I’ve not seen
The points between
Twenty toes
To destination
And danger 

She spun 
Of Venus
Slip of the tongue
Quick kiss
 between us
On which the moon hung
In the peril
Of pearls
A fate now 

Between the lips
South by north
tiny pieces
Calling forth
A song was sung
Unknown discourse
On which the moon hung
With all our force

Memory Does Not Falter -Letters Unsent #7

Memory does not falter, love, we are there. Afternoons of tea or strong drink. My Mercury sparred yours, and peeled layers of clothing and consciousness, in bliss. There, in time, framed without wood or glass, pressed between lips, no one knew how darkness grew. 
Eyes wide you watched, my closed eyes, open mouth, purring.
We hooked the moon, on string and stars. We christened the time as ours, we are there love, memory does not falter.

Pause The Moon- Letters Unsent #4

What is it, I ever wanted of this, you dared to ask? Nothing and everything, and only this:
A time to make a heart warp with regrets. Melodies and movies and signs on the streets and highways, to make one remember a destination when the summer was young and promising, scorching the steel in which hearts had grown, as decades and the maps of lives became etched around eyes and mouths. Mouths that once paused the moon when they met. Mouths now emptied of each other. Tea and beer and cigarettes. White wine and a bar stool that bore witness to eyes of the world staring and stopping the sun in a sky with a memory of daylight.  Pages poured from a soul trapped in print with ink chronicling a crisis between logic and lust. Pavement and oceans knew of  the chasm. It occupied places in the afternoons, while the rains visited the valley like a secret code tapping between flesh and fire. It was and will remain, without quenching.