Dearest man-in-the-moon, ever since our lunch of cheese & moonjuice on the far side of the sun, I have walked the craters of New York, a trail of slime ribboning between my legs, a phosphorescent banner which is tied to you, a beam of moonlight focused on your navel, a silver chain from which my body dangles, & my whole torso chiming like sleigh bells in a Russian novel. Dearest man-on-the-moon, I used to fear moonlight thinking her my mother. I used to dread nights when the moon was full. I used to scream 'Pull down the shade!' because the moonface leered at me, because I felt her mocking, because my fear lived in me like rats in a wheel of cheese. You have eaten out my fear. You have licked the creamy inside of the moon. You have kissed the final crescent of my heart & made it full.