Moon Blues, Three

No kiss works for me now.
The tongue is an intruding dental probe
Or the frail flickk of a cow’s tail.

No kiss works for me now
Since that August night
Of the full, cobalt moon behind you
And bluebells and crossandra beneath,
Since you whispered off my dress,
Since the kiss that wiggled down my back.

In all these worlds,
These parallels, futures and black holes of anti-matter,
Until the end of time,
It can never be
As if your blue sliver of light
Had not washed over me.