Dark Moon

Belly drums
as hard as bud.
She menstruates seeds,
a ruddy flood.

It’s comes like dark wine,
as clean as fire,
wet woods.

She pounds and pumps
with the thumps
that shudder
unleashing, emotion,
motion, hot blood.

She sinks into lichen beds,
webs,
casts flower spells.

On the meadows peak
supine,
stretched open,
dripping eternities’ DNA,
she faces the eagles
spinning in kaleidoscope sky.

Infused with dew,
and drifting dreams –
never ending streams, harems,
she sniffs out home,
her candled cavern,
in wait for the slowing moon.