I Was His Fiddle
The moon kissed me and followed me home.
Untraditional lovers met.
I didn’t want to be rude.
The moon ate all of my cereal,
burped and sat on the couch.
He was at home.
The moon led me astray
to the bedroom of my own.
No door ever held so hard.
The moon left me in quilts
sewn by my daughters.
Only darkness came through the doorway.
J.McIntyre
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