ruins

ruins still 10

when i am spilling the moon

i long for the crimson-bright river of blood

current of continuous surrendering

pain as palpable and sopping wet as

life, breath, organs

the scarlet fire of youth served

as food

for my mysterious, passionate

caged vampire

but time and the body

free every beast

drown every hunger, moisten

every flame: the womanly lips

surface and resurface in the pool

of their beloved blood

sucking its nutrients

spitting life out

moon after moon

for eons until the source

is depleted: dried blood

a cracked brown stain on the inner thigh

the soul now spills

drops of moonlight

glistening nectar of what was once

youth: crystallized dew

at first silently coaxing, caressing

the bud to unfold, then ripening

like afternoon sky ruptured

by torrents, downpours,

steaming geysers

hurricanes, floods and tsunamis

i become

the quiet and terrifying aftermath

of mud and splinters floating

in rivulets of still life wetness

i become

the ruins of

passion

i become

liquid elixir rising

to meet the moon