worm moon

counting hours with you in this car
running out of digits
watching the same moon
pink, blue, harvest, worm
(I do not know the other names
the names of those missed.)


our bubble, our space untouchable
by hands grabbing face pressing glass
distorted, unrecognized
eyes focused on eyes

and you are right, of course,
Alex did win,
smile and drool fork fed
cleavage framed in crisp white
nursed through his remaining days
with guilt ridden milk

My light house keeper,
your fresnel lens calls me home
safe through harbor
up winding stone.