The moon is swollen in the night sky and I could have sworn I saw it blink.

One eighth of an eclipse, you know. A slight of hand.

If I ever were to build you a house, I’d cry into the cement.

I’d give your home soul.

I’d seal myself in with the drywall, pacing between your bedroom and library.

Your windows would be my windows; sheets of skin stretched so taught they become translucent.

Veins look like stress fractures in glass, and I can’t seem to forget the past.

But I’ll move on.

I’ll paint pictures on the wooden staircase, gliding through the maple and oak with my sharpened talons.

I keep them long so I can pick your locks.

The patinated leather rope keeps your head on your shoulders, but I’ve looked in your eyes,

I’ve seen how they smoldered!

They crack and pop like tinsel thrown into the fire after a drunken evening of keeping warm and howling to the big, big moon.

We’re fat and swollen with love.

You could lie in the ocean and soak up its salt; it would cure you like raw meat.

I’d let you reabsorb my moisture.

I want a ring on my finger and a bottle in my hand,

but not in that sense; but I want it real bad.

And I want your dark emerald night eyes to look at me forever,

and I want my equestrian dreams to come true.

I’d take that wild stallion all the way to the bank.

Cash him in.

Buy a gun. Look real cool. Maybe even kill somebody with it.

I’d hide the body like I hide my problems, and then even I couldn’t admit to doing it.

I believe every lie I ever tell. That’s the only way to do it.

And well, you may be going to hell, but baby I’ll follow you there.

I’ll follow you down and we’ll live underground ‘til that fat, swollen moon explodes.

Its ethereal debris will be epic.

You stick to my bones like sugar on my rotten teeth.

You’re harsh and sweet and pure as cane.

I miss you like sin, and it hurts to breathe in,

because the acid splashing up against my throat has increased.

But you, you’re gentle.

You’re the warm air doctors force up nasal cavities with tubes and pumps.

You are forced relaxation.

“Too much, but never enough.”

You swallow me whole with your limbs and don’t let go.

My skies swell and burst with each wave of the ocean, with each break of the tide.

With my jaw unhinged I can breathe you in.

With my eyes rolled back I can see your soul, because your soul is mine.

I loved you like that fat, swollen moon loved its sun.