Waning Moon, She Said by Red Shuttleworth
Seldom fed voice
or shabby winter coat:
imagine a ghost far-from-sudden
at the corner of touch.
"Call first before...
Flecks of brown sugar
on below-zero snow:
her popular breasts
a decade from going slack.
"I grew up on bed games."
A cloud of burned coal:
our portrait startles.
The walk onward, glove on glove,
barbed fenceline to dirt track.
"I could go with you... if you want."
You can access Red Shuttleworth's website HERE.