I
Out of my flesh that hungers 
and my mouth that knows  
comes the shape I am seeking 
for reason.
The curve of your waiting body 
fits my waiting hand
your flesh warm as sunlight  
your lips quick as young birds  
between your thighs the sweet  
sharp taste of limes.

Thus I hold you 
frank in my heart's eye 
in my skin's knowing 
as my fingers conceive your flesh 
I feel your stomach 
curving against me.

Before the moon wanes again
we shall come together.

II
And I would be the moon
spoken over your beckoning flesh  
breaking against reservations  
beaching thought 
my hands at your high tide 
over and under inside you 
and the passing of hungers  
attended, forgotten.
 
Darkly risen 
the moon speaks
my eyes 
judging your roundness  
delightful.