Tangled, in the dusty drapes, lithe limbs all akimbo,
Pockmarked, freckled, scarred, scraped and bruised,
Sweat pooled in collar-hollows, dripping in rivulets,
Brows, pale, fever-moist, lips parched, hot, dry breath,
Hair scattered; black and brown, damp, dank and lank,
Four forms, unformed, gawky, gangly, unfinished,
Sinew, flesh on bone, twitches, turns, murmurs -
An exercise in haphazard grace,
In oblivion.

Beyond the ballast, the pale moon fades,
The darkest night does turn to grey,
The bleak fresh morn; the light, a heralder,
A stirring of the quiescent dreams,
Mumbles, murmurs, wriggles and writhes,
The dawn of conscious, eyes; brown, blue, grey,
Boy-limbs, unfurled; as though a bud from slumber,
Unforeseen elegance, unheralded delicacy,
The marionette of a master puppeteer.

Three forms awaken; softly stir, the last lies nestled, unaware,
Honey-brown tendrils, play-sped heart, dew-kissed brows,
Sleep-heavy limbs, flushed red; a rose-bed of scars, knitting grazes,
Dry, howl-weary lips, soft moans, a twitch of tenuous fingertips,
Sleepy mumbles, a slow-growing ache,
Conscious hovers on the edge; at last he awakens,
Four forms now, youth-bright gazes, clumsy, boyish hands,
A reassurance, a promise; slow, glowing warmth,
A moment, at dawn,
At Moonset.