Burning Moon Poem by James McLain

The apple of the flesh.
Month to month it is full,
out of reach but for the smell.
During each month when I smell.

My pillar you hide in the mud.
Where the woman made of seaweed is dark.
In it she can grasp his knowledge of her.
Some higher but deep such a secret.

Can any person touch that feeling?
What kind of first night?
The love of sky it is travelling through.
The water and the moon,
the rainstorm where the pain is sharp.

Through the kind of air where life is choked.
Love is the art of war come night after night.
Electric neon lights none coming have had before.
Two bodies which become ruinous
and depending upon our single minded sweetness.

Kiss by kiss I cover the depth of infinity.
Where you were once are small.
Before the kiss.
Settled over closed drapes prying eyes.

Upon your narrow river,
I stand certain of the village,
and the joy where you are small is narrow,
because of a certainty,
and with the darkness it is light,
but because of this certain light I turn back.

Looking past the skin and into her skull.
The orbits are cracked,
but the eyes are a leaf shocking green.