Can you feel the Moon tonight? The full weight of it? Do you see it? He sure sees you. He knows you. That should scare you, but it is him who is frightened. You are only to look up, up up at him, one look that lingers and he disrobes of his everything, all his glowing veneers. For you. He is but renowned for his shyness and for some parts of you.
Silly Girl, who told you to remove your skin? Even if your red cloak is nowhere to be seen. It is after all about fairness and pitching in. You protected him from all the suns and the stars in the skies and he kept you safe from your thoughts. Most of them anyways. You don't like that? Well, neither did he.
The Moon's swollenness, the whole of it, can move you but it's sheer girth, unmasked and resplendent, cannot take you back to where you belong. You are not the custodian of your world anymore, you silly little girl. Dead or dying, slowly slowly, quietly quietly you are getting to know him. Aye, you are a thief still, but he still likes your smile and still cherishes the sea of Galilee in your eyes that lights up the religion of your lie.
You came into this world today, yes, those Northern Lights your vessel, the music of it feels right, gently gently you had come here, but the pleasure of him is not your gift. The Moonlust is on you Tonight, you'll writhe and write on the dunes of sands and then on heartless paper, too. Exhausted you shall be, but there will be words, lots and lots of words, loads. You should talk to him more often, seek him out, even if the world deems you mad for warbling to the Moon. Reveal all of your pinkness to him. As it is, you don't kiss him often enough for him to decide what type of Fiction you are. You should let him kiss you more, though to be sure, your kiss is not yours to give. Yet it isn't his to take either.
Now, say goodbye to the fourteenth of twenty, look the thirteenth is gone now and welcome the newer Deaths, say hello. Cui Bono. He will see you later and see you more. Undeniably, ultimately, undoubtedly, he'll see more of you.
