Flattening

Her body tremors,
Shoreline after the tsunami
Batters and retreats.

The sun's a general.
The moon's a specialist,
Although in what
She will not tell.

The world is lemon stripes
Ejected through the blinds,
A treasure gold
That glows across her alabaster
White,
Streetlight or noon.

Her beaded belly inflates
And settles,
A retreating tide,
Balloon ascended high
Returning,
Depleting intoxicating helium
Behind.

- 8/15/25

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