Maybe a Proselyte

© Mama Zen Photography

Maybe I'm just moonstruck

but the color of your eyes could inspire a religion

and I could write a hymn

to every laugh line when you smile

Maybe it's just the moonlight

that has softened our faces

and given us a glow

but when I'm with you I feel like I'm still a kid

Maybe it makes dogs howl like wolves

Maybe it unites lovers

Maybe it incites lunacy

Maybe it's just a moon

but when I feel my heart race like this

I am a proselyte.

submitted for Sunday Challenge, featuring Mama Zen, at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Of Moonlight and Thieves

photo by Mariya Mileva

If locked doors make for thieves

I will lock every door

in the world

so you will steal me away

The moon is too bright

 I can not sleep

for the Man's staring

Let the owl pluck out his eyes

so I can fly away with you

unseen

The nightingale

will tell no one

but the stars

Little fox

come raid the hen house

                                             I will be waiting for you

                                             my feathers red in the moonlight

                                             No bounty for the hunter

                                             no eggs in the morning

                                             Just the gossip and squabbling

                                             of sisters left behind

                                             wondering

                                             whether to be sad or

                                             envious

       submitted for

 Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Kerry's Wednesday Challenge,  Triptych-Poetry In Three Parts

We Write Poems, #97, A Study In Transitions

Poets United, Thursday Think Tank, #87, Moon

Marked

You say you're wild, boy

but I've broke horses

wilder than you

Soon you'll be eating sugar

outta my hand and

beggin' for more

You say you love the road

but you're gonna love

the sidewalk to my house

and the stairs up to my room

even more

'cause once you're in my bed, boy

you ain't never gonna think of goin'

anywhere else

I am the moon that you sing to

I am the song that you sing

I am the scent on the breeze

that you gotta chase

Even wild things

have their weaknesses

and I know all of yours, boy

You leave my hips bruised

and my lips swollen and aching

But it is you

who have been marked.

photo by Daryl Edelstein

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Weekend Photo Challenge 
and Poetry Pantry #85 at Poets United

When the Nighttime

When the nighttime comes
do not love me gently
I want to know
you ache for me

When the nighttime comes
do not seek permission
enter without knocking
steal like a thief

I want to wear the nighttime
on my skin

breath you
from my pores

taste the moon
on your tongue.

submitted for Thursday Think Tank, #58 Nighttime, at Poets United
and We Write Poems, #64 Parallel Lines
and Meeting the Bar: Crit Friday at dVerse Poets Pub