That cameo was my secret grief.
He will make you sing,
the hooded moon.

Not a sacred thing
Kissing the toes of a traveller
for fecundity.

In doorway it was between
us and them for bargaining
for Dahlias.

Lips unkissed will call for
honey from bees.
Eyes will srarch for a candle.

In alien land of flames
and tumultuous desires,
the golden breasts will take revenge.