Under A Yellow Moon
The night calls its children to slip through the trees.
To lay under canopies of twisted, darkened boughs.
Branches beckon like curled arthritic fingers
Suddenly sinister in the gloom, but still commonplace in light.
A yellowed moon rises above the rolling hills,
Stained like a drop of tea on old parchment.
It hangs between the stars, a golden pendant of the night
Casting minimal light, but just enough
Just enough for me to trace your frame against the trees
Just enough to glint off your face like the shine of a pearl.
With the night comes chill, chill within the bones
Ligaments tremble, lips shudder.
Skin turns from a smooth pane to a map of bumps.
We feel it, we acknowledge it
But in all, it does not matter.
We are here for a purpose
As is the chill.
Free from our cares, we lay in the road.
Gravel bites into the surface of our skin, but we manage.
Curled together, but apart
Our faces close while our bodies flee
Flee gently in opposite directions
Splayed like the arms of a cross.
One moment passes, slips swiftly as water.
As I stare at the stars, you gaze at my profile.
Unfettered by dreams of galaxies beyond.
I turn and we brush faces-
So close, but still separated.
Still some barrier in between.
Courage brings me warmth and I dare to lay
My lips onto the cool skin of your cheek.
Silence, from which I spring a joke.
My defence against all I do not know.
But somehow, somehow
Something wondrous occurs.
And while we are at the wrong angle
For the conventional kiss
We manage, somehow and it is glorious.
And within this glory is so much warmth.
I can tell, when I gaze into your eyes
That we are on the brink
Of something that cannot be sufficiently described.