After dinner, a fugitive guest, vibrating with the visceral,
sat on the couch between us. The future was
That cherubim face with blistered hands taking off those combat boots,
as a warm southern drawl dripped like honey off every word
wearing a yellow jacket spoken to make us feel better. The absence of hope was
The way a hive weeps for a buzz the flower can no longer give.
The way air dies in a mouth no longer in service at this time.
As evening grew soft & cool like pillows
made of each other, dreams became
Me with my erection in the middle of the boat,
as you, the wind, in these life shredded sails made us so
Daniel Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island with the poet, Laura Coe Moore. His poems have been in or are forthcoming in Spoon River Poetry Review, Columbia Journal, Cream City Review, Western Humanities Review, Phoebe, Mid- American Review, December and Weber Review, Slipstream, Levee Magazine, The Blue Nib Magazine, Cultural Weekly, Tule Review, and Pangolin Review. His chapbook “Boys,” was published by Duck Lake Books (December 2019). . Visit him at Danieledwardmoore.com.