mama carries me to the porch
tender, still with the glowing dampness
of aged rain. orange blossoms tinge the air as
my honeyhead savors warm scents
of marmalade nectar.

mama leans us against wood railings
watching the breeze hopscotch ‘round the trees
in an indigo playground. my arms outstretch,
trying to grasp the thick air
as her heart close to mine beats a nocturne tune.

mama hums love supreme, each note
a thread, that stitches eloquent webs
of gossamer galaxies in my mind.
hanging pines prickle my delicate skin and
through midnight’s wispy clouds
i see Her,

Her Majesty
dressed in white. she bleeds bright,
covering me in a veil of luminous beams.
there, i speak for the first time
*moon.