for now
Across
my face
his lips articulate the
supple voice of
a kiss. His streams
of consciousness release
into my speechless rims
and
I swallow them like seeds.
Sometimes
they stop behind his eyes and hesitate,
incarcerated
leaves in my storm, his
storm. He is
summer
translucence,
blue
amber light
risen from winters
of misperception.
We are heartbeats
never heard
times two
and if
it’s love, I don’t
want to know.
Mia Moore
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"… one of the most well-crafted and also evocative
pieces sent in last month" — Kirk
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