Her name meant Full Moon
and she shone with some divine mischief
when I first walked past
in all my power and glory

Her neck was the first trap laid at my doorstep
she opened her Indian eyes wide and tilted her head to one side
and there -
right there,
I ached to place my lips, to taste, bite,
to kiss

Her laughter was the second trap,
woven into every cheeky quip and casual glance
I learned to earn her desire
I learned to dominate her heart and tireless young lust
I played her expertly
just as she commanded me.

After wine,
candles flickering in her orphaned lunar eyes,
scent of wax and charged electric air of wanting,
I took her to my bedroom
and in the blue of fairy lights and swollen summer moon
I found the hardened nipples of her small breasts under my hands
to be a holy braille
that spelled redemption for the blind.

Oh God,
it was the kind of night,
the orchestration of sensations and elations,
to justify all life.

Oh God,
she was a beauty
and the stirring scent of her cunt on my fingers
and the cut of her breasts in my football shirt
and her lipstick smeared on the morning mirror
and her kisses,
warm and wet,
her secret taste, her secret scent,
her violent scintillating orgasm,
was just too good to be true
and yet,
I treated it all complacently.
I was used to living perfectly,
I was used to living expertly.

Full Moon,
I don't believe you ever had a better emotion
a stronger emotion
a sweeter emotion,
and I don't believe your body ever burned that way
or your spirit ever swelled that way
or the waters of your longing ever ran with such grace
than when I was your lover,
oh my oh my,
when I showed you how to be adored
and how to take the moonlight
to take it in and unto yourself,
to turn it into spirit,
and be all soul.
Oh my,  oh my.

Full Moon,
you were the art that made the artist.
I never compared you to the lovers that came after.
I knew we lived a rare circumstance,
a powerful concoction of light and time and heavenly hunger -
it could never be repeated,
we could never be so stellar,
oh my oh my.
When people ask me why so little is ever good enough
I point to the heavens and to you,
the great bewitching star.
I say  'Until you lie with the daughter of night,
do not talk to me of love.'