the full moon rises once again. another night of lunacy must pass, but settles over me instead. oh my head, oh my poor benighted brows, straining to sense the she-light falling, senses peaked to the utmost, noted and noting and nothing and doting on her languorous leggy and cutely cunted copious capricious conjugation commingled in our communion. her moans mouthed mournfully, her pants and sighs and fleetly fingered thighs and wetly pouted and petaled flowering labia opened and opening and deeply so, and sweetly so and oh so so oh yes so. the stone buddha laughs fatly. while compassionate, he cares nothing for my suffered love, he winks at me for my stiffened prick, that benighted stick that strikes no bargains, but only wants to be a long sighted and longing guided missile aimed once more up her love silo into the night sky. it would shoot down the moon so bright if it could only quite or requite her love. so bright, so bright the night filled up with moonlight. no sight but what might shimmer and shiver the light. her light falls like strands of love her gentle hands that provoke, her gentle tongue that strokes notes from my flaunted erect and fluted skin, fleetly tongued and found me panting or breathed alongside or beside myself with love or ecstasy or madness or bold breathing, wanting only more. more light falling down, more moon-ness and lunacy so sure. so certain. so firm. no difference comes over me, like the light itself draped o'er me like a shroud or cowl or clothing. it fits the whole body unto itself, and knits the skin a skein of laughter and beknitted united love. kiss me again with your lighted lips. kiss me again with your sighs and signs and breath. oh spirited breath. oh weather born winded, circled and soundless roundness standing so still and bright in the warm night sky. tell my love her love awakens my madness and magnified by moon and lighted by rooms without her. where is she? where, when here would be so much better. only she can take the edge off of this sharpened shattered night. her roundness rolls me up and down and 'round. her curves sublime the math-made mind that measured nothing and found something quite sublime. oh something, some little embodied and fragile love that survived its own birth and growth to now. what madness raises up its heady marvel. oh mindless uncautious love! oh fuck me soundly and senseless! oh moon and lover! oh swoon away and lost again. oh too much and gone this can't go on, but does so anyway.