Tim+Snediker

Rumor has it I'm the man on the moon but I swear to God Awmighty I never heard her breathe her own name aloud.

Now the time the wind danced in the yard and left her panties hanging from the eaves, that was more than a metaphor,

and what's more, I keep secrets with her. And she silvers my blood--what with the striptease for four straight weeks, slipping that sundress

on and off and on until gravity kisses me goodbye and waves bon voyage and I learn the twin virtues of onamatapoeia and myopia: both of which sound

like the name of a beautiful woman. I round her humming circumference, cover myself in shade and slumber with her the silence.