Sitting on the floor cross-legged,
Leaning against the radiator,
We looked at one another fervently
Through opposite ends of the telescope,
Are you seeing craters on the moon?
Or just the cracked pours of my skin?
When I took my turn I looked down,
Peering into your wishing-well eyes,
That glared through the gloom, like
A kerosene fed Victorian chandelier.

-Jamie F. Nugent