I want to kiss the moon sometimes the way I used to want a smoke to have its light fill my throat and steady my thudding heart I want to feel the moon’s cold breath in my ear as it whispers all my secrets back to me and to hear the stars mutter their threats and sing of terror and nightmares those horses of my dreams running blind in the desert I want the dry kiss of the moon on the back of my neck as it calls the predators in from the woods wolves who raise the dead from the earth and set them to following me I want to kiss the moon the way the moon kisses the sun to cover it with my darkness until only a halo shows a gold glow through the smoke-hazed clouds I want to kiss the moon, will the moon kiss me back?
Originally published on The Laundry Line. Subscribe to get more poetry weekly.
