Beneath the veil of an October moon, cold beneath the cold falling slowly, she touches heavy like, breathes steady. Her conflagrant thighs spread, sodden with love. She kneels, peels her plum. Whore of my heart says her liver is swollen. I look to her and we kiss like ships sinking, doused of the dripping moon. 

A bald orange, bearded, I say, ‘David,’ the owls atop the cupboards; years, drops of water, the café, a plump man sitting in need of a shave; in the morning one pepper, one egg- women waiting, wait a little longer. Nights when we pulled the moon upon its knees whistling at all the cunts and stuffing. 

China, softly, china. The sun bats her eyelashes singing manana.