Featured in the 2016 Spring Issue of Rambunctious
La Lune et Le Mien Jack Radford, '16 i have cried until my body ached, until the only words that oozed from my pathetic mouth were those lacquered with bitter agony, laced with the ferocity of a thousand melancholies, words not even the stars could decrypt, that left the moon dumbfounded, the good moon, kept intact with love woven among its craters. my moon. my moon whose glow encapsulated my beauty as the streetlights flickered and the stars slept behind clouds as cold footsteps on cracked pavement and moth wings faded into blurry illusions. my moon kissed my lips with the weight of the universe, i felt the planets roll across my tongue and i was not afraid. there was a stillness left in there as the vacuous expanse of space warmed my body. my moon cried illustrious tears, golden droplets that dribbled onto my wounds and shimmered in the twilight, leaving stories in my scars more ancient than sagas scribbled on stone. i myself was an artifact, plump lips, soft hair, calloused fingertips and thin legs. my moon carved me from the comets and wove my clothes from the fabric of the universe. my moon laid stars in my eyes and wove the music of the angels into my throat. my moon made me beautiful. my moon made me beauty, purity, euphoria, blackness, despair, deprecation, helplessness, devoid.