Separation by Moonlight

Male butterflies visit their favourite watering hole
where they collect salt to give as a gift in mating.

This is something I can use, or use against you,
but the information comes to me too late.

When the breaking light of morning slips into the past,
the moon slinks from daylight. Fingers unloop

the length of my body, he brings me salt. The act itself
is uncomplicated. I place candles around the room

to bring back lost loved ones. Preserved love can
be dangerous. Morning slips into the past,

loosens the memory of mouth. Someone else’s words
slide across rumpled sheets, make their way across

skin, rubs against separation of moonlight. Unable
to release itself, the moon slips from breaking

light of morning.