a crescent moon cradling you into me,
curling you as a flower along my spine,
bathing you in a warmth so deep
your eyes weep secrets as you sleep,
your breasts becoming the fountains
of a land evergreen,
the pink well between your thighs
a spring of such waters
that bird and tree
from all over the land
come to bathe, drink, and give thanks.
Cradled, inside of me.