Photo by Maxim Berg on Unsplash
some say that that the Moon is a mystical feminine spectral of lunar beauty
But I know better
You, mystical Adam of red meat bone & girth
You move me—-I’m dizzy, I’m under your sweltering magic
Like sonar in the sea, your moonlight has sacrificed itself inside of my pulpy mass
The burning veins that obey your machinations
How are you so high
As I am so low
It’s unfair how terribly my pulpy, soft insides twist when you move so close
Eternally close, fearfully far
Some say the poet goes mad writing to you
My Moon, I know better
About the Creator
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.