Milk-white light spills through the crescent slit in sky
Trees cast broken spider web shadows
I look at my phone as you tell me with you the sun is shining
The earth has spun you away
The wolf rolled its head back and yawned, then coughed and choked, eyes white in the moonless night. When the world was silent again, the moon reappeared behind the pine trees, a jagged slice missing from its edge.
fingertips; your lips
slowly waking to moonlight
my lips; fingertips
Friends shyly hold hands
like the moon touching the ground
through the trees in Spring
pale moon, stars, chalk clouds
snow on the distant mountains
night waiting, or night, waiting
Lace underwear clouds thrown over the lightbulb moon; the streets are camouflaged in fancy dress. Two figures, fingers interlocked.
Leave it. It’s not worth it. Walk away.
The somersaulting evening starlings signed to the sun.
The fading sun, reluctantly, dipped below the horizon.
You know I’ll be back, it growled.
The moon peeked pale-faced from behind the clouds.
Every day, it said. Every day.
illustration © Ross Gillespie @bigblether
Open curtains protest moon-white purity to neighbours.
Below, gulls laugh at foxes.
Under the moon the slow impulse called me.
I felt the danger
I would lose my soul in your soul
to please you.
All the shadows were soft-sugar grey;
the thought of the proteas shone through.