Search

There's something in the way the moonlight roars
through the panes of the sliding glass doors and swabs your body with hills and valleys of steel-
blue and gray while you lay naked and exhausted
on the living room carpet. I sit, masterminding the
choreography of your gooseflesh with the hand of
a pianist turned puppeteer, and bask in your soft
voice and the curve of your vernacular, something
soldiers of the union would never be able to truly
appreciate. But, oh, to know that I came so close to heaven that the smells still lingers strong enough
to make me salivate, only to have it lassoed by the
rays of the morning sun.