Howling at the Blue Moons

Christina Strigas

It happens seven times in nineteen years,

that random falling into you

and not wanting to get up

from your howls.

It happens more often than I

would like to count in my notebooks,

either the third or fourth full moon

in one season.

It is how the effect is pulled by you

directly into me.

You can look at the incantations

as paragraphs of my life

I omitted. You can examine

the subdivision of a year

and ask me to show you

more of my skin,

but I was drunk.

Filled with regret

and remorse,


and sex appeal.

Every additional full moon

moves my days into nights

and I feel you on the tip

of my tongue.

Year after year

nothing changes

but the wrinkles

on our skin as we track

down the moons

like vacation spots

or business trips.

What a view from the top,

what a…

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