Crescent Mouth
Sing the rites of evening’s passage
when bleeding moon fires like a wild keeper,
her rosette curves slither in rarest of eclipse
as night sky heaves with quivering breaths.
Oh how she bares the lush of glossed flesh
beckoning all senses to crave her touch;
more red than any pigment of glazed stars
while crescent mouth foretells her swift plight.
Chant! blood of moon curdles in hungry desire
igniting lovers to taste life’s ambrosia;
brief her presence dripping sweet mysticism…
till passion brews before hours nip her spell.
........................
Dave Wood's Red Moon
4/ 15/ 2014
by nette onclaud
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