Apricot Moon

That droning throat buried in
his fingers, cracked and tanned as
barren earth, narrates the tenderness
of our times.

Into the wind, from hoping souls,
agile lungs stain this burning night
with the bittersweet shades
of our days.

Somewhere past midnight,
but well before dawn, silence
falls betwixt brandied cheeks,
yet our hearts wail on.

Honey Girl

Eyes not yet open,
hidden in warm honey,
stare into comforting darkness,
searching for safety.

Will you look upon me,
or shall my face be your
eternal, distant,
advocate?

Eyes not yet open,
hidden in a flourishing orchard,
refuse to see the
dangers that await them.

Shall I look upon you,
or will your face be my
lone, unknowable, lantern
in life’s teeming tide?