kiss in the dark moon

kiss in the dark moon 

your raven face is feather
 lace lingerie.  But beneath's

a coral palate, a sea-
pen of living

ridges only your own
tongue can take

for granted.  Let me,

in my own 
muscle, until each is silk

closure kissed, let me 
slide

every on- and- on mile of it, slide like my

tongue were those split sole ballet

shoes that take to the stage 
the way the old 
the old
 the old knowing

 lovers take to each 
other.

 above this ridge 

is the low hill set still in the rafter

of your mouth.  And the tip

of my zested vent is rubbed
ripe as August,

and you, during all this, your lips

a fearless pricked fist
  and my thumb,
 my thumb finally

parting each ridge, each pleated cheek

 unfurling, each levee gap piping,

and then the soft wet

 sky behind,

gathering