Ripe fruit to taste, Nectar of milkweed,
In the first hush of morning,
She translates to me,The strangest dream
We were the wisps of smoke, coming out of old man’s pipe,
Where all the worlds were forming
Wild tresses tumbling down,
tangled river to a troubled sea,
I am not myself, my dear!
I have fallen in too deep.
Slow clouds swallow the full moon,
leave me sitting in the dark,
Sparking a match!
pulling the blankets back
To find her crescent form.
My Head is a cloudland!,
tethered to an anchor,
sunk in the ocean floor__
My Heart is the moon!
one half reflects the borrowed light,
other dwells in darkness__
do you remember? when the world was new,
and our hearts were simple creatures,
nestled in the ribcage, humming lullabies to lure,
the frenzied sighs of young love.