1.

it burns—
my shadow feeding
it the popcorn
celling as I sleep

to keep it
alive,

to keep it
from
snuffing itself out
inside my pillowed gut.

because
I’ve eaten the
moon before,

and the phantom
won’t hesitate
to reach
down my
throat
to
retrieve
it.

2.

I take  night’s  mouth
for a  quick    joyride, 
and I lick at your legs,
and I lick your  yellow
motorcycle,  and you
think  it must  be just
a light drizzle  as I lick
the back of your neck.