The moon looks down like an orphaned balloon.
New lovers exchange tongues passed the scent of midnight,
their limbs arched and coiled to the hammer beat.
In deep. Die cast. Swimming in the splendor of a theatrical dawn,
while the world erupts like the surface of Io.
The dignified moon in all its ochreous modesty pulled upon the tide,
their love burned by a killer sky,
left scratching an itch that is flesh and memories to scatter
like autumn coat tails. Once scratched and scattered,
a fresh canvass. Brush strokes for pleasure not immortality.
Plundered from the archives of ‘Ready to Ignite’. To read this and other pieces of self-plagiarism (including original artwork by Suzy Angus) go to http://www.daveyoungpoet.wordpress.com/poems and leave your comments and posts