Harvest Moon

Harvest-Moon-Image-Courtesy-of

She spells and conjures me

beyond resistance.

She strings and dances me

through frantic streets,

her hapless marionette,

clacking limbs

and wooden heart.

 

I am played and plucked

with ivory fingers

my strings vibrating

as she paints me

with this lunar grin,

new moon on her back

Cheshire feline fading.

 

It cannot last, this phantom face,

this bright madness.

She has me by the balls

and won’t let go.

She pulls me inside out

and whispers secrets

I don’t want to know.

 

Mistress, muse and madam,

Priestess and lover.

She commands me

and all my gestures.

Such brief moments

of elaborate ecstasy,

endlessly repeated,

is all i ask.

 

moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock

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10 thoughts on “Harvest Moon

  1. I am played and plucked

    with ivory fingers

    Great imagery. Life, women and booze have done the same to me. I am safe now though. Life on life’s terms but the bar and piano shop and opportunities for the ladies are closed. Forever.

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