On Luna

She had a face – like the moon, not so much in shape as in pale resplendence – that made me forget that I only ever saw one side of her; that even when she wasn’t away she was still, so distant; that even when she was closest to me (keeping me awake) she never spoke a word; that her hair frequently obscured a sliver, a third, a half, and all of that unending countenance; that she disappeared completely when her obvious sister was around. No. Every time I saw, I see, that face, it was completely, tragically, fixed on thoughts just beyond my grasp. I was, I am, lost in my tidal wave desires, which,  though constant,  will forever be doomed to break behind clenched teeth.

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