Moonlight was made for drinking.
Inviolate fluid, iron-blue candent
milk dampening the halos of
angels, enveloping every
celestial and earthly body,
longing for an endless vessel.
Luna pleads for sweet
exsanguination. She bleeds
light and entreats us drink
deep. Call it what you will,
gibbous milk or night's white
blood, but gorge. It was made
for lips moistened, open,
greedy and devourous.
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Shadows & Dust [poetry]
PoetryMost of my poetry is autobiographical. I write about living with bipolar disorder, dating, single parenting, my neo-pagan spiritual beliefs, my dreams, and sometimes popular folklore. Many of these pieces come from my self-published collections...