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It seems the moon is always waxing, new, 
Or just about to start waning, so that
We lose our sense of time for these seasons
How many days must we lose to the rain
Before the sky blankets the fields in snow
And the cedar boughs hang their heavy heads
As if in reverence to the hoar frost?

The raw winds of winter reveal new blooms
Unearth the secret thoughts of young lovers
Whose bulbs were put to soil in the spring
Given life by the light from tender eyes
Nourished with perpetual mists of tears.

(Our lips lock and it seems the stars align
As the space between your synapse is filled
With norepinephrine, serotonin, 
And just a smattering of dopamine
(Enough to make your tiny palms perspire))

The rise and fall of frail forgotten tongues
Lingers like spray from cold open oceans
Just as your breath crystallizes mid-air
To leave me transfixed like a man condemned
Propelled by the cadence of your heart beats
Wandering like a somnambulist to
The meter of your every waking breath

(Covetous coverlets won’t let you rise
Heavy-limbed and drunk as you are with wine
With the swift spirit of an algae bloom
The sensuousness of new lover’s lips
Will enclose you in a madrigals lace)

I don’t know what it is about gull song
That evokes such a longing for distance
Such a mad desire to sail to the moon
Through the seemingly endless void of sky-blue
That glittering blackness of starlit space
That brings to mind your newly-opened eyes
When they are still unaware if what they see
Is real, or part of some forgotten dream

When the torrents of spring return to cleanse
The valleys and warrens of hours and days,
Won’t it feel like we’re kissing underwater?