Under A Wheeled Moon Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Peek at me and you
inside a chamber
in sky's floating
cream balloon sailing
under fleeting stars.

Flying as we sit warmly,
creeping hands across
each other's spine
growing like a pine tree.

Nesting us by our
fat wing-flapping bird
of love with tap roots,
shooting out a rake
and bobbing broom
to toss off strong storms.

Peek at me, hands
over your shoulders
in a cream gliding sofa,
a curved ivory arc
flipping out stretched legs

from our seat on feathery
drifting wheels
stretching out with
the rolling cream moon.

(ii)

Peek at the moon
again and again,
as we bounce against
each other, arms
glued each to each,

saddles holding
our horses firmly,

Those white horses
in the drifting moon
gallop with us
across the smooth
cotton pad of sky,

as we sit, crab-gripping
shoulder to a rocky
shoulder growing with
milkweed and reeds
we grow for a new bird,

its rising and falling
rolling, swinging wings
swelling like bobbing tree
tree branches in
an alabaster breeze
with long arms of wind.

Growing brushing palms
and fingers digging
into dents that catch
only hooking fingers
rolling with love's bait.

(iii)

You sit sniveling here
by me on a bench
whining and sighing
like a hissing
snake, but you whirr,

your choked breath
carrying strokes
jumping higher than
a hundred hills
of storm waves
hurled across gales.

Whistling through
scores of sandstones
that won't stop
love's whizzing missile
catapulted over

mountains of splashed
waters from the high
seas churning love
in sinking whirlpools
digging and laying soft
silt of the mattress

that rocks and carries us
through night, a heavy
ocean riding us in whorls,
a fetus still carrying us
in new wombs of love
a burping candle light.

(iv)

Take a look and whiz
with those wind-driven
tawny mounds
unfolding waters rolling
with unscrolled waves.

See how they arrive
at our shore stretched out
before us with silver
and cream sheets flattening

out with greyish wood
and carob-hickory froth;

and spume pulling us
away from memories
left in ruffled high seas.

Look at how these banks
roll over with green
squiggles on running pages
in life's new book
of a rolling, cartwheeled love.