Full moon in Pisces,
aching broken fullness
desperate, hungry fullness.
Alarming.

We’ve been here before, you and I.

Ah, you give yourself away -
a lingering hand,
the curve of the small of my back
alive, electric,
hot beneath hot fingers,
fabric barrier thin and waning,
pressed.

We’ve been here before.

There is supple space,
a secret green bud
within the tangle of autumnal shed
for you for you,
thought dead now glowing
hot and red
tenderly doomed,
a September tomato.

Pluck while it’s still green;
we both agreed
there’s no other way to go
but to seed.