I Wish I Was Blue Moon

I wish I could know that warmth

I Wish I Was Blue Moon
Photo by Aron Visuals / Unsplash

by Michaela Emerson

Not the one in the sky

The one in his long, slender

hand—lanky ringed fingers wrapped

perfectly around the sweaty, amber


I watch those inked tendrils

lift the end of expectation

to his evoking lips, he gulps

down a devotion to liquid



drips down the corner

of his lips, lip of the bottle

The muscular sponge that rests

in his hot

mouth makes its way around

the rim of his bottle, his mouth.

A luscious tuft

of brown parts in the middle

and something else comes out: a sound

I think, but I’m looking at the

half moons

that are filling up the curvature

of his jaw, my god,

he’s smiling, laughing

into the hole

of everything I wish I was.

He takes another drink, this one

longer, and I think I see the icey

yeast smuggle down his


I wish I could know that warmth,

the roughly smooth

texture of his

esophagus against my shivering

skin. Just let slide through the liquid love

on my way to make a home

in his body, snuggle up

to his ribs. Never,

did I think I’d be envious

of a bottle in a bar, in some

hot man’s hand.

Bottle to mouth,

can it be me next?

Michaela Emerson is a poet, writer, teacher, and editor from Texas. She has an MFA in Poetry and a Certificate of Teaching Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. She is the incoming Editor-in–Chief for Frontier Poetry and the former Editor-in-Chief of Lunch Ticket Literary Journal. Her work has appeared in Polemical MagazineVersesLunch Ticket, and elsewhere.