Today's NAPO is super rough, because, well, I only had a few moments for poetry, unfortunately.
The Body's Prophecies
Like blood moons, they come in terads: rage
you swallowed down and kept hidden deep
within the tabernacle of your throat
that only shows in the ruddy hue
your cheeks wear when you clench
your teeth, the aftermath of kisses
on the neck, the sudden rush of shame
that fills your downturned face, and finally,
the moment when the body lets go
of this month's faithful prophecy
and leaves a mark the color of the moon.
Here, what I want to do, is incorporate the fantastical and biblical language surrounding the blood moon to describe the body. Eh. Maybe I'll come back to it later.