That lazy full moon

pulled its lacy cloud covers up to its chin
as it snuggled
deeper into the cushy sky
on my way in to work this morning. — Annette Marie Smith

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Full Moon in May

The full moon knocked on my window
held a pale finger to his equally pale lips and beckoned me
to cross my threshold and enter his domain
like some kind of reverse vampire rule
where it was not him needing my permission to enter
but him needing to issue an invitation to me.
It is always the granting of the thing which opens
up the veins of possibility and lets the wild magic flow
like blood.
The granting of the thing:
a kiss
a boon
entrance
water from your own well
a heel of bread
a moment of warmth in the sun
or by the fire
charges the interaction as well as the ones involved
in the asking and receiving
with all the stirrings of an apocalyptic storm
and any heart that has been barren and dry
is suddenly fertile,
drenched with dew on every branch tip
and with grasses that look to be cut from emeralds
for the shimmering shine of their sheen.
So, for those reasons but also for sudden understanding:
When I saw that the moon was really you,
I opened my heart and followed him
wearing all of the heaven’s stars
on my brow and wrapped
in beams fit for a queen.
— Annette Marie Smith