wrong to the core, for they never saw your bed with its
invitation to deep indigo.
Van Gogh, smitten mad for you,
sublimated in paints what he felt and could not bear.
(So I like to imagine, my body stretched out among the stars.)
So clever you are, or careless--
half covered like a moon in transit across a narrow window.
You know I'll go to the breezy sill,
lupine and soft-coated, leaning for silvered water and finding
delicious madness in the warm curve of the offered half
of your celestially gifted ass.
for Karin's "Going Halvsies!" challenge at Real Toads