Moiré

Unmoored as you depart, my waves
Whirl out a pulsing mesh, patterned

On your groove, your angled form, hips
A turning beacon for your hands

Wringing me. I eddy and swirl
Sweet for your return. Juiced curves

Your honeyed gaze has wrought draw flies.
One looms and dives on what we’ve caught

With our own bare hands, not hers.
Despite professed noble intent

And invitation’s compliment,
Her quick net was only ever full

Of giant holes the shape of your eyes,
Your mouth my rushing current.

2013