Looking in/Looking out.
Breathing in/Bursting out.
The sun might go down in the west, but rises up later in the Northern city in my dreams. I hold it and squish its sticky juice of light. All I want is chunks of moonlight to eat.
Supper has to be sweet, you see.
Because moonlight does not demand hunger, require an appetite; moonlight does not promise satisfaction.
It simply stays on the tongue like a paper boat on a puddle and then dissolves into anonymity.
Like a drop of white blood.
Oh shame be upon my judgement!;
Is it nothing but sunlight in a subtle disguise ?
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