Moon
light stretches her thin fingers
Through
the gold willow leaves
With a
touch so soft it stiffens them
No wind
tonight to whip the limps
This way
or that,
Just
bent shapes in the dim night
And the
shake of some internal shudder
Again,
then again, and again,
The kiss of the air when it comes
Lingers
on the upturned tips
The
quiver of anticipation
And then
release
All
nights are lonely nights
Filled
with the ache
For the
company it can keep
Wine
sipped but rarely consumed
Red lips
lusted after
But
barely assumed,
This
night of all night
Struck
with prickly edges
Of need with a moon teasing
Full of
promises before it fades
Living
limp what it so excited
Casting
into dark
The
upturned protrusions
It once
made quiver
And near
the willow’s roots
The
all-knowing river flows
Having
reflected on moon light
For so
long, and its suggestive promises,
It
accepts in the end
Whatever
gifts the moon will give
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