Crescent Walk

Call me on the carpet, call me
On the phone; call me to
The cockpit of your private radio.
Take my hand and place it, touch me,
Turn me on and then turn me away.

Nighttime comes and watchmen call,
The dirty oxblood sky can't fall
Soon enough for you to take me home.
You control the moon, you know you do.
I can't take the morning without you.

If only all the world weren't standing guard
I'd touch your hair, you'd walk the stars--
All you had to do was give the word:
Painted picture, polka-dot balloons.

After dinner I was scared,
You were calm and brushed your hair.
Nothing meant as much to me as blue--
In the air and off the end of June.

Pocket blast, the sacred coin
Slipped off my finger and into the void.
I knew then the mount had blown the view:
Too much of you...
A fissure cone of earth swept left of true.

Breaking, broken, broke I'm bored
of you turning me down.

That God damned moon.

Turning tricks and paying out to you.

Accept the truth.

I am itching, worn, and almost bloomed.