- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Moon Child
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The moon reaches with her smokey arms to comfort one of her children.
Painting my coffee skin blue as if it would protect by color code.
She showers me with her silvery rain.
I absorb it like an infant to breast milk.
For as cool and soothing as she looks, she fuels a hellfire of passion in me.
As she pulls the tides of the ocean as she waxes, she teases the beast that is my sexual rage as she wanes.
Thick folds of lunar energy cradle my heart in her cold heat.
It beats swiftly releasing puffs of stardust with every clench.
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