The Moon Was My Lover

moon

The moon was my lover last night.

Like ancient lore I lay at the bay,

water lapping like a drumbeat

mezmerized against the shore,

stars illuminate and so bright

their luster waxing and waning

with the trick of my eye,

the moon so plump in the sky

I could almost pluck it,

like ripe fruit from a tree,

and I beckoned the moon to be my lover.

LittleFlower

I laid on my back and spread my legs wide,

my intention clear-

open me, lavish me,

penetrate me with your liquid gold,

a halo of shimmer cascading

down, down, down,

between my folds dripping with desire,

into the nook of never ending honey elixir,

sweet, sticky, pulsing with source,

travelling up and down, in and out,

around every canal and every crease,

igniting and lighting that fire within me,

its tiny ember swelling with each touch of light,

each spicy scent of your nectar,

the jewel of my flower growing brighter and unhindered,

each facet and fractal lustrous with your shower,

its dusty veneer washed away with your mixture,

as you slide and roll and seep into me.

berries

Oh how we rocked and rolled and whirled this night,

the moon and I!

Sculpting and clearing like fingers run through hot wax,

dips and peaks, edges and folds,

entryways circling around and around

like the spiral of a shell,

its luminous pink melting and tenderizing

parts of me that were deadened for years,

and I came alive and unfolded wide,

my fingers aching

my insides burning

my internal flame roaring

with each pathway revived as the moon flowed through me,

until I erupted with a shudder

liquid boiled to a simmer

and I lay there gasping,

spent yet full.

All the while knowing that this beach,

this time, this night under the stars will end soon,

but the moon will always summon,

travelling thousands of miles with me,

willing to ignite my fire again

willing to be my lover once more.

BigFlower

April Aronoff

Photography By April Aronoff