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Moonrise
Moonrise, nothing angular about her
but the effect, pocked cool harlot
whose sheer moves between buildings
toting garbage
flings me out delight.
Can I take less of autumn than she
clear into winter, can I value the less
fortunate who acts better and better
balances but to be seen?
Belong to me,
twotimer, partner in climbing erosion;
you nowise furnish me the handholds
into the blind loveseat, but repair
to it costing a bit of smile.
We trial
the whole lover under your still veil,
moon never ready quite to die. Dumb
whore put out the light to cross over,
dump me then to distances and night.