moon phaded.
Like the moon phases.
Her eyes,
Are ever changing,
Yet always present.
When they first open,
Her eyes are full.
The glistening moon takes me in,
Brightening dark space.
“You are safe here.”
Her sparkling eyes breathe.
I feel safe enough,
To shed, to mend,
To become whole,
And full like the moon she is.
And when her eyelids,
Hang low,
I know,
That it’s the aroma of that first quarter,
Given to us by your homie.
That sticky, earthy, ground between,
Has been rolled into something lean.
The quarter passes by quickly,
And as her eyes,
Glaze over me,
Like the waxing gibbous.
This phase, I see,
It is warm and sweet.
She hangs her arms over me.
“You can be all you want to be.”
Her eyes sprinkle soft affirmations to me.
And when the moon is a waning gibbous,
And the weight becomes,
Too much to bare,
When one would try to run,
And hide from what’s there,
The moon invites me,
To stay a while.
A warm cup of tea,
Heats my frigid hands,
Her eyes, a deep mahogany.
Chai, brown sugar, drops of mullein.
The warmth slips down my chest.
“You belong here.”
And the day comes,
Where we finally can escape,
We dally in a field of flowers,
Talking of our fate.
Just as the sun sets,
The sky reveals the moon.
A crescent this night,
Like a sliver of hope,
Hangs high in the sky.
Our eyes connect,
And she brings me in.
“Until we meet again.”
The new moon,
Is still there,
Just invisible to our human eye.
I still seek out for her,
Knowing she is there.
Her eyes are closed,
So I kiss the bridge of her nose.
When the moon is tired,
And she slowly fades,
I watch the phases
And wait,
Until she is full again.
When we were younger,
Looking out of the car window,
Observing the moon,
It felt like,
We were forever chasing it.
So appreciate her while she’s there,
Be present with her,
For she is in a phase,
And she will not always be there.
- The Flesh Out