Moonchildren: A Beethoven Love Story


Sims' Lawn
312 Cape Dr. SE Washington DC 20019
United States
38° 53' 12.6168" N, 76° 56' 50.3196" W

He’d always wondered where she kept

her wings. And he questioned where she hid

her horns. He could never find feathers on her

boney, bare back and he couldn’t feel spikes

in her honey-scented hair. He received no hints

from her psychedelic eyes. Her voice was as coarse as Satan's smile,

 yet slow and smooth like God's palms, and as far-fetched

as it may seem, even more lovely and beautiful

than life itself: much like a fantasy,

they found love underneath the evening sky, from where

the moon and stars convened to dazzle

the darkness. The night was perfectly composed

of the whirring of cars, the chirping

of crickets, the bland beauty of midsummer-night-city air.

Once they learned how to hate, everything

flew: pillows, keys, books, shoes, blow-dryers,

hands, words- in every sense, pure and utter chaos.

At times they hated more than they loved, but they made love

more than they hated. They were stuck

in the present. When she was unhappy, he never knew

exactly why (neither did she), and when he drowned

on his happiness, she was  burned by her anger.

In the prime of their youth, they had no clocks,

they owned no mirrors, nor goals. They were forever young

and wild. Driving a few dozen miles too fast, she swore she’d

pierce the air. Glitter fell from the sky, and memories sparkled

against street-lights and high-beams. He was too busy

rolling up a good time to discourage

her from tasting the stars. And only on the nights

with the gayest of the starts is he ever so lucky

enough to catch one whiff of her honey-scented blithe

imagination. Just as it began, it ended with a shimmer.


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