(Twin) Moon(s)

by Darryl Price

A late blue electricity, frying up nicely, you and I, 
you and me, then so briefly sure, a candle inside 
wind rains, slipped into always sad afternoons, filling my thoughts,
and that'll be that, your lips, my mouth, I was
amazed, I don't know if it means anything, invisible to
the naked eye, passionate, possessive, the outer grey galaxies, this
exhausted, lonely, marbled countertop, no longer humming as it should; 

later a softened madness in the middle-ages that he seemed
to profess to us both that I hoped for her
sake she found particularly offensive, I admit my words might 
count as cherry trees for markings, a cruel joke, since
you have thin cold fingers studying barbed wire, more likely
the ice forming all at once, rudely, a hole in
the heart, equally perilous and apple red, like unforgiving mediocrity.