Morning Moon

There’s that damn watery moon again –
the same one that used to look in on us
in the tired-as-crap early morning hours
tangled in each other’s wild-ass wonder,
ribs on vertebrae, clavicle on cheekbone,
arms stretched to the breaking point as feet
beat a staccato on torn sheets. She won’t look
away, that moon, watching through the window,
inching silently across my strip of sky until
she disappears and I’m left with counting
the dawns until she and you return.


Poem currently and temporarily up on Fictionaut and shared on dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night. 

Image by Susan Clements. Thanks for inspiring this poem, Susan! 


27 thoughts on “Morning Moon

  1. This has a haiku feel to it. The love story, the moon and then the turn…Full moon and empty arms. There’s that passion and breaking that Rachmaninoff brought out in the 2nd Piano Concerto fondly called Heart to Heart. Yes, your poem is like that.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love everything about this one, Charlotte!
    I love seeing the moon in the morning–it’s kind of magical to me. This “watery moon” is different–maybe a bit tearful in sadness or frustration? I like “tangled in each other’s wild-ass wonder,” and love the counting dawns.

    Liked by 1 person

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