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Untitled

Simon Perchik

I kiss as if some warming stream
still hides my lips, drink
and a child not yet born
tugs at the surface, calls out for tears
--you close your eyes.
What did you think would change
or the cry you never hear again.
It does no good to move my lips.
Red frightens the water
and deep in my throat this lulling
is just more moonlight taking shape
floating under your eyes
--you can still hear one moon
calming the other --don’t open your eyes.
My kisses too will clot and be afraid
cling to your lips, to this warm milk
the sky all night breathing in, unable
to drown or alone at the light you heard
only once, not loud, trying again.

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