Moons like magic
with cinnamon and sugar,
Craters from a majestic old lake,
sprinkled
like treasures
finds in the dark,
they wait for you.
Curves like old friends,
familiar, foreign, but not forgotten
flexible
are those who wind up their internal clocks
to repeat,
consistently,
Wanted or not. They show.
Predictable and sweet.
They embrace and surrender to thee,
Full moon in Scorpio times three.
They believe in the depths of the ring
and the light, and the masterful
core and delight,
In cleaning of wounds
rather than scrubbing them.
The healing stage hurts the most,
Before the edges become smooth
and the angles roast,
Calmly caressing the contents of your
valleys and peaks,
alleyways and caves,
cool waves and heat.
They meet. She greets.
Love is released
Here is the same photo but with a little computer work to make it look moon like. The first one was completed using paints and tape only. Which do you prefer? I love the poem. Courtney paints directly into my brain so that I can see embrace, cinnamon and caves. Like a magic pipeline from god.