Moonshine

earlier that night, our glasses had clinked in bonhomie, our

truths exchanged, our foibles acknowledged. the girls

lay languid on the rugged floor under the moonshine; some

like logs, some, starfish. with their reisling-laden tongues,

they discussed men, money and megalomaniacs. my

head rested on one of their torsos while I lay subsumed in

Her pulchritude. She must be high-maintenance I reasoned;

She was out of sight unless I jut my neck out a little, making

it less comfortable to rest. our illusory discourse followed —

"what keeps bringing me to you?" I asked, innocuously

"we're alike... in some ways" she greeted, mellifluously

"how is that?"

"it must be our tectonics" came her pithy rejoinder

a beat, and she continued "we don't have them. so we carry our

craters and pocks with us endlessly... that's how we have come

to identify now”

“does that make us different?” I engaged and she indulged and

shone on until I succumbed to sleep

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