Falling for the Mourning Star

Come running, another
eclipse sits in leather
plush; it’s blushing what our
sundown rushed once, what we
never said, our falling
stares said too much: Hold me.

Once something falls under
your lips, it’s no better
wished for than ripped from your
grip; dusk renders unfit
flame once it’s been swallowed,
we’ll fall out tomorrow.

So, angel, let’s just sit;
deep wells I draw into,
your eyes’ oceans, they know
how far I’ll go, they’re all
turbid with desert clouds,
pulling me down your road.

A cubit breadth avowed
between us with its loud
silence sounds out its cry:
I’m too shy to say this,
you write and pass to my
fist, not knowing the risk.

A tomb fills up my hand;
midstream, it’s this heart’s drought
drying wounds we opened,
not your trembling lip, smile,
or even your request;
it’s I’m so unworthy.