Moistened hair flicking in the wind, a moan
is carried off by the night. Hear her cry?
Savory-sighs saved by salivating
animals roaming deep, until the sun
falls, as they rise soon; to cry with the moon,
slippery-sanity saves them, silence;
tons of sweat and effort to praise silence.
See it blown in the wind with a moan.
Magic, men must find under the fine moon.
A hunger in primal taste makes them cry.
Men are born with guns to shoot before the sun
softens such savage schemes salivating.
Such little deaths leave us salivating
until moist kindness sips us in silence
swiftly-satiate sanctum, rest now, sun
light drapes over bodies grateful to moan.
Released to sigh when begging to cry
“master make me smile under the pale moon.”
Dancing fire under the midnight moon
emancipating those salivating,
climaxing convulsions cured with a cry.
Floating like flowers blooming with silence
like rose petals thrown into the wind moan.
See such spirits stretching to reach the sun;
passion etching their names into the sun,
bringing a monsoon, then, tonight the moon.
Mute-moments mime their way to waves that moan
like moths led to light by salivating;
a kiss from the finest taste of silence.
Creatures-climbingcloseness until, they cry.
As when roses drop their petals, they cry.
A cycle is done they’ve bloomed for the sun.
Sail such sadness softly greeting silence;
soon will come again, the time for the moon.
Patiently waiting - then salivating.
Mirror my mercy later when I moan.
When spirits cry under the light of moon
they spent time in the sun, salivating
the coming silence arrives with a moan.
