clash with moonphase

night… lingered on
the shades of your
eloping occipital lobes -

you've had me
hypnotized for
eons with the
bygones begot
from unsavory
tongues -

we've shriveled
inside each other's
stares, and the night
keeps hunting
time, and we
woodcutters caught
in the nets of
stars, in the
grips of gabled
moonphase, making
love on the staircases
beneath the engravings
saved from the
dynasties destroyed
before our own -

I kissed your throat
in the same fashion
I might have fought
a revolution -

in the same replenishing
refreshingly awkward
tick-tock step of a
prom queen defrocked
of her fakery -

we forsake each other
easily – breaking free
without pain, without
second thought, just the
slow surrendering gasp
of poetry, and her fickle
bed of sound and mayhem.