Poetry

A calling from zietgeist; 
when a flute versus beast 
starts a power play. 
 
My world becomes wet. 
Amorous, 
when I watch a moth in your fist. 
 
A split moon peels off 
the cuticle, for a mega show of the 
cone, shedding cruciform sword. 
 
The white tiger leaps with 
precision, spilling the milk container. 
It was moonlight. 
 
The baked smile now gathers 
the teeth for a final bite. 
The diamonds now quiver like a fear.