Hayden

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.

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