Moonstorm

an ode to the days before red

Tender is the womb

before my moonstorm begins.

Before the body folds inward

to whisper its oldest covenant.

In the light of day

I wake with scarlet blooming

between my thighs.

Until then, it is only an exquisite

and immense pressure.

building and building

a tide pressing against its own shore.

My body knows before I do.

she’s patient as underripe fruit

there is nothing left to do but open.