Neil's Carolina

oh olive skinned. tender
comatose mouth how
so silent and wrought
iron the sweating moon
high over head and mint
dripping down over your interrupted skin. I would like
to lay my
hand over
your olive chest
would like
to see only your almond deep eyes glaring angrily
at the
nuances of shifting nighttime wavelengths light traveling
towards your seraphic
bones your internal gentle workings. there

are no
hidden places
a strong enough light. do you feel
it sting wasp moon?
and dangerous
waspish moon?

I would like to run my lightest
touch of your balmy mouth open
and regressing towards self or
moonish calflight. open


green lighted the quirk of your lip. of your broad chest of your broadness
your masculine broadness. you

of whom no torsos have been modeled
from. you

whose mouth
I would bathe in
the tepid
florida of broken mouth of your cupped mouth

exceptionally far away and a southerly laughter
a brashly gentle southerly

I would dive
the night
is spun hazel. nettle. I would pass my hand lightly and softly over your nettled mouth. brilliantly sacred. nothing here being sanctified but the not of my touch