Blood on the moon marks the land of darkness.
I cannot see–– outlines dart by on leathery wings
Slicing my cheeks, but they are leafy limbs of shade.
Crimson rivers race under my pale moonlit flesh,
The price for sprinting across the olive veins
Of the earth. Gasping, hot breath on my neck;
Gasping, the sound of bark snapping; gasping,
The feel of falling forward into piercing silence.
The arms of the water rippled to greet me, its kiss
Soft like a baby’s blanket and as frosted
As a January blizzard. It was my first lover,
Filled with gentle caresses, tender embraces,
And smothering passion. The Mississippi
Beckoned me down into her depths, willing
To reveal her secrets and her gifts. I screamed
As the blood moon watched me sink
Into the bed of my last and only lover.