Moonfish

The genderless moon is not a face tonight. It is a splice of my fingernail. As I drive, I see myself hanging from its tip, my body dangling. Your form rolls into the moon invited --you curve into its crescent. I want to fit into the missing round, to lie into its slant, fish head to tail with your round silvery form. But I have to get over the point . You encourage me to let go, come to bed, curl around. I continue to drive and want to be home after I get there.