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.

The moon calls to me tonight—
I cannot resist her charms.
I slip beyond the confines of my room
To let the evening soak into my soul.

A full moon spills her silver light,
Darkness braided with her glow.
Rocky earth crunches beneath my feet,
Each step alive with sound and scent.

The high desert hums its song:
Stars glimmer, coyotes cry.
A noisy stillness fills the air,
As daylight’s brightness fills the sky.

My heaven is green grass,
And scent of sagebrush and hay.
I belong in this moonlit nirvana,
Where constellations burn like fire.

The gentle, yet piercing glow of the full moon casts a soft light,  
Like a caring mother, watching over our well-being.  
It gently peels away the layers we hide behind,  
Revealing both our beauty and flaws,  
Forcing us to confront the self-inflicted wounds we keep alive,  
Pain that dims the brilliance of our inner light.  
It encourages us to release the burdens that are not ours to bear.  
We begin to recognize rejections for what they truly are:
Disguised protections.
It nudges us to stop longing for what isn't ours,  
And to let go of what doesn't reciprocate our giving,
Softening the walls that block the exchange of light.
The moon then steps back, giving us space to heal,  
Returning month after month,  
Waiting for us to come into our full light.

It is a full moon,

music sounds from the café --


I'm not one of them.

A full moon tonight,

light pink like a peach, perfect --


and inedible.