Cyprus Moon

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The moon is a silver
cherry on my lips that I offer you
in the night of the room.
I have taken it down
from the sky, cold and ripe
and full of light. It has blinded
me for days, its perfect
shape has cut at me
with its whiteness. I was afraid to look
at it, my eyes rounded, my face pale
at the thought of leaving you
behind. So I plucked it and
held it in my hands. Fresh and slippery,
I rolled it on your skin to soothe
your darkened flesh, its glow
reflected off your moonlit hair,
your moonlight hair. Taste it,
I whisper, holding my face
a breath away
from yours. It is a sweetness
you will never meet again.

The room has no walls,
the night has dissolved them. We are
alone beneath the liquid air. We are
alone, drenched in the wetness
of the fruit nature has ripened for us
in the garden of the sky. My lips
touch yours, the cherry moon
melts in our mouth, and stars,
stars, everywhere, shimmering
upon us, two blossoms
molded together on a silver branch,
pure and fragrant,
honey-sweet nectar
trickling
below us
onto the long night’s
thirsty tongue,
quenching.

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2 Comments
duddle146duddle146about 17 years ago
Purity.

Seldom have I read such beautiful exquisite romantic language ~ A Poetic Jewel!

LeBrozLeBrozabout 17 years ago
~~

Here's a lovely piece of stylized eroticism.

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