I’m Having a Love Affair with the Moon

WRITTEN BY SHELBY LEE

it was harmless at ten as i swung my legs from the balcony at sunset, bewitched eyes on a clam dusk because a fool murmured, wish on cracked gold, but i’m not ten anymore, the decaying wood reminds me, never letting me sit comfortably without a cushion of baby fat to protect my bones

i lap from a bottle and fumble a call to the one love i have shown any commitment, to mumble about pataphysics and how our wretched language mangles merdre, like my shikt habits exhibited in all the obvious places, like under my eyes and in dead rodents on my pillowcases

yet my dear comes without expectations without baggage without trust for which i’m most unfamiliar, they understand how some nights my eyes can’t bare perception but with the tide’s inevitability, will return their embrace until my bleached-coral flesh is only recognisable in their apathetic glow.