It is not
ficklety of cat
rubbing leg in faux earnest
those clamored souls with
wine soaked language rolling ebullient
reefer in sardonic prose
It is not
deftness of entreaty wound around
stocking nor thickness of honey consumed bread
turning truth to sticky fingers
pinching air in thought
naming the stars
underneath canvas where tents
suspend redolent arias and
forest creatures lament
shrill bleat of humanities
persisting encroachment
though you
rising from steamy bath
ruddier by your delve
bright as a regained penny
shining like evening pearl
silver limbed and black of eye
rival the moon at her dearest rise
are velvet lament beneath air
a song of shivering moments
burning like freed embers
from dazzling height
you diminish never
you shine on
spreading your
arms into
hungry night