The moon shines iridescent as if quicksilver
rides on its shoulders, leaning over to whisper.
Oh gemstone, diamond, turning jewel, opal.
You glow as radiant as reflection, a mirror ball,
yes, as if you rest in the desert becoming a mirage
and I wait for the strokes of your light to massage
me into hot ash, flickering like an ember
but still waiting for his shadow to glimmer
as you light his body against the doorway,
a mosaic of expectation in each foot sway.
