Sharing Space

The moon sits at the bar like a vamp

and my eyes are dune buggies, shredding

up the barren landscape of her shoulders.

What is the age of beauty?

How do I dispel the cover of clouds?

I approach and linger on

the nape of her neck, then dip to whisper, “I couldn’t

help noticing you from across the void.”

She slugs her glass of twilight over the desert wind,

drags a cigarette, blows smoke then sighs, “my oasis tent is just

around that sandy bluff.”

Imagine veils.  Imagine velvet

grapes, towering fountains of wine that taste of mulled dream.

Imagine anything, then multiply it with the past seven days.

Tonight, the moon arrives as I float, waiting,

naked in a pool of stars.  She goes to slip

into something more comfortable and returns

in a spacesuit.