you were never my quarry but still you escaped my snake-jaw. you hopped away while my mouth gaped. i shook; i rattled. i dripped venom. was i a monster, in the end? do you still speak of my charms? surely you know that for now you win the popular imagination: you are cute, you are nervous, you are prey. it will not last forever. my curse on you is this: may they see you for what you are, just a ghost, nothing solid, nothing real.
the moon smells like a gun freshly fired // the moon hits a bull’s eye on her first shot // the moon is not fucking around // the moon will show you what it means to change / to be a multitude // the moon likes how powerful she feels / & how tender // the moon knows that her tears do not negate her strength // the moon wants you to understand // the moon loves you / but she cannot change the fact that you can’t breathe around her //