Last night as the quarter moon slipped
from its perigean crouch to sprawl spent
beneath the folds of her bed’s far sheets,
what stiff wind plunged down between
her outspread thighs to lightly tease her
secret hooded silver tip without awakening
but steady enough to deepen her breathing
into smiles she will give tomorrow’s noon?
Some will say she was only metaphor
and not see the lights his touch revealed.
Some will think he was only dream
and miss the changes her body decides.
Some will think them only an accidental
midnight crossing of two not meant
to be one remembered expected.