There are, there aren’t, and yet there are
two women standing naked in a moon harboured
window. Tonight, they declaim that houses
are like bodies and together they will fashion
a home of incandescent dreams.
Their house, a dirty white bungalow with large windows
sunk into the brick. They gaze at their reflections
in the night window. Like Luna’s daughters, they stand
shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, holding their breaths
in the still air. They are here, together now, and not
merely illusions in a darkened window.
They close their eyes, each imagining a whirlwind
of kisses they will visit on the other. Do they really believe
it could have been any other way than this, as they roll
onto the moon-lit bed, in fits of lustful laughter.
They cry out in need, and release, each is overwhelmed,
by the power of procession, and yet neither will surrender. .
