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Image for the poem Fuller

Fuller

This morning, at five,
after running,
the moon swallowed me whole.
She, in her colostrum yellow, drapped
her fingers down toward the sea and scooped me up. She,  
with intimate magic and infinite pleasure, danced her teeth about my insides, rolling each nerve ending around in her mouth
in the swell of natural lubrication
and then spat me
out as a clot upon Earth,  
a forgetting, forgetful Earth
only waking, rotating,
rising,
missing the moment
in drudgery of the mundane -  
I take to running again,
wise in my wildness
that is shared only with her.
ImperfectedStone
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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Ahavati DanielChristensen Hunterapsych nomoth
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