Love and moon juice

Dip me in the lake like a lollipop 

baptise me in an embrace 

which finally, 

finally 

does not leave me aching. 

Gulping down moon, 

you are lilac headbands and the warmth 

of whiskey, 

trailing lace, watching steam rising off of burning bath water.

You will curl soft beneath my wound 

like a cat beside the fire, 

these swollen blisters, these exit wounds 

they tell a strange tale 

of a love meant to be, 

a red clot in time. 

Maybe we missed the chance, 

but, love

let's not wait till the season turns sour.

There is still time for us 

to lead a tragic life. 

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by Millicent Stott

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