In fact, the stars orbiting that irresistible moon
Secret away their own luminous forms
Whenever she shines without restraint
Upon the world entire.
— Sappho —
manifesto…
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
— Wendell Berry —
snow moon secrets…
yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
– you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
— e.e. cummings —
a page turns…
And now we welcome the new year,
full of things that have never been.
— Ranier Maria Rilke —
all roads lead home…
The day will be what you make it,
so rise, like the sun,
and burn.— William C. Hannan —
how simple we seem…
In a field. With the moon.
And the dark. And the dirt.
With your mouth. And just one word:
god god god.— Daphne Gottlieb —
waves crash…
luna súper…
the way we live now (or, in search of lost time)…
Tonight, the moon is sombre though you wouldn’t know it;
it nestles its backside into the sky’s lap, each buck-and-grind a falling star.
Nights like this make one ache in mysterious ways.
A man once fingered me in a dark parking lot. His fingers were long and clever. He growled his pleasure in my ear and bit my lip. When he made me cum, my head fell back with air clusters catching in my throat. His kisses were coos. Tears streamed down my face; he said they tasted sweet, like stardust.
Constellations were the First Stories; we are all descended from such brilliance. We are the dreams of ancestors come true. When we look into another’s eyes, we give up the secret of what we most need – the Darkness holds it until the wind takes it up… and away, back to its first breath.
We are the ache of life’s mysterious ways.
The moon is restless as you lick my skin with the tip of your cock.
Tonight, the darkness holds us.
We are not alone.
– Lola Moi –
the earth whispers…
The universe is small enough
to hold hands with mystery
as it stuffs another number in its pocket.
Vast, starlit skies
pause in their dance with the moon
looking for keys that jangle
in some unseen corner of a shoulder bag.
Silver spills like milk across a prussian-hued nightstand.
The earth whispers, “Shhhh…”
tucking in against the chill
while verdant winds weep
sneak
along a nape
daring to loiter in hair now tied back, taut.
The earth whispers, “Shhhh…”
We stop
and our echoes diminish.
Love is mute
and I have gone to bed.
– Lola Moi –