Move as a song describing love's phases,
just like the Moon traverses the night sky
in arcs; it wanes and waxes pooling light
released from the Sun inside its cup.
Move about the room your beautiful
and languid legs, move air with your soft mouth
resembling the flesh of a cold plum.
Move me with your words and with your body
so that I am no longer stuck here in
this bog of mind, this swamp of judging thought.
The lines your limbs will make above the earth
are aspects of a turning cycle. Dance
about my gaze and breathe about my heart
your fragrant, verdant femininity.
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