off-blue

Thursday runs off the water,

to my Sunday, whose sun I catch with a wave

as the boat veers with the crescent moon of sky

that considers the combination of its own vault. Lay

back in the boat, let me fall

for your personality that you gift me

as it skims your skin, from your noon shoulders

to your fingers that fasten the deck’s fastness.

Don’t let me be pushy. We’re time

upon this pine moonlight, and romance

has your feet ahead of the bow,

your twirl within the open vault of the moon.

Show me the star-pouch of diamonds.

You are sweet in how you offer me the leaning cause

of the blue beat of the sun glitter-chest.

It’s sweet: those who come later see no one on the water.