MOONLIGHT, OCTOBER RIPE
In clumsy reaches, soft with solitude,
you touch me perfectly. Caresses, wet
like dewy fingerprints, whorl around
and around and around our inner worlds.
Why have I loved you all this time,
sweet light? Why does the wine of you
still make me groan? While wild fires smoke
out what night means, you sway.
Moonlight, October ripe, ablaze in Reno,
up late in Moscow, you rush hot skies.
Where push comes down to shove,
you glow, you love. You give back light.
Al YoungÂ
Copyright © 2008
