Four Moons Too Many

I feel you

on shaky ground

in waxing light

calling to a logic elusive in sight

Hold. Wait!

Love, I feel patient

upon pursed lips

the part that opens to taste the tip of my tongue

as I slay with words and action

as I show myself (once fluid in my core)

a heat that contends with love.

Igneous, now hardened and cooled to the touch of one.

Thank you for this layer of Earth that piles upon the history of hardened hearts.

I may foolishly show up in love

but I am no fool in friendship.

( )

In tradition they said to expand…

so here I contend with what fails to rise.

I could tell you of men who speak in tongues

that tangle and torture and tame…

but what fun is that?

Maybe it was four moons too many.

So instead I will tell you of men who speak in tongues

that tickle, untangle...who tell tales of truth...in honor

I reminded myself of all the ways

(I foolishly show up in love, but)

I am no fool in friendship.

Four moons too many?

(It was more than four)

As the nights cool down

to a chill that runs up my spine

in pursuit of comparison

comes the crashing of charisma

upon the Earth

in layers that sink in solitude

layers that listen to the endless

ways in which we beat in rhythmic rendering

ways in which we wrestle in endless understanding

slippery in sunken submission…

I could tell you of men who speak in tongues

that tangle and torture and tame…

but where is the honor in it?

I am no fool in friendship,

so in the slaying of all that could be,

I am sacrificing all that is.