I was the moon rising
in your eyes, and you
the wolf–laying a rope
of stars at my pale throat.
They cut my tender skin
with diamond blades,
and my flesh wept
blood red with joy.
Their surrender-song
still echoes in my head
–as the sun spills golden
into our bedroom window.
I will sing their fading notes
–each one my gift to you.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
Pen's Ink 