The moon wakes me, moonily kissing my eyes...
(a pewter voyeur, her gaze doesn't waver
when I catch her watching me in my sleep).
Her steady eye caresses my violet temple and my cheek.
I bare my breast to the moon- I flaunt its drooping pallor-
and the moon spills milk on my white breast.

Her pure, soft silence answers my tight throat-longing.
I hold my hand up to her rent peephole.
She spills her milk into my hand,
wetting my fingers with her whey.

I brush my lips with fingertips
fragrant with the moon's flat sweetness,
my kiss held fast by her nameless musk.

Oh, lovely, bloodless moon!
See how I offer you my breast, weighed in the cup of
my wetted hand?
See how I expose my pulsing throat
to your cool and ruthless glide?

I wish you could love me all over, moon...
all through and through;
not just touch my eye,
spill milk in my hand.

I wish you could fill me up with your viscous light.
I would let you have me, moon;
I would let you halve me like a sugared apricot;
split open my arsenic kernel.
Oh, moon, I would beg you to fill me up
with your overflowing white;
slow me down with your dense and arrowroot,
your cool and chaste glue.