The moon shone like pizza,
spinning in the endless sky
above the four forever friends
lying on a scratchy striped towel,
trying to navigate the stars
and find their way back
to Milkyways and pick-up games,
screaming out Part Of Your World!
desperate to turn 21 back to 5,
and the distance roars.

Don’t look like you’re asking for it,
Stick to the buddy system,
Stay sober and on your guard,
Groups of three or more make it to the door,
And watch your drinks for any slips.

Avoid dark alleys, strange cars with strange men,
But also—short skirts, mixed drinks, red lips,
Full moons, plaid shirts, polka dots, and anyone named Rick.
Carry mace and don’t forget to scream,
*Make sure he gets the other girl.

I scroll through my phone
and suddenly you appear,
a contact hastily added just hours before
you changed (ruined) everything,
Mikey (Last Name Unknown)--
and my thoughts are dark
walls and ***** breath
and the locking of the door
right before you

Through stories we learn the moon makes monsters,
From ordinary men to howling wolves--the moon's to blame.
Under cover of the moon vampires come out to play,
Jekyl meets Hyde, and Frankenstein gets made.
Men become monsters that turn into nightmares,
And all because of the moon.

(i'm not sure if this happens to all men,
  or if the moon can pick and choose--
  all i know is
  that night in his bedroom,
  i discovered that monsters are real)

Swampy sunsets,
sun burnt necks,
and the sweet smoothness
of  how y'all doin'
accomplished more in 7 days
than Dr. Gray in 17 years
for the northern girl
with the irreverent wit
and persistent stutter.

Fresh-picked blueberries still remind me
of sun-kissed afternoons and you—
my teeth sink into the rich sweetness,
the fresh zing of skin on skin.

But too soon the tang leaves  
my empty hands with nothing left
but stubborn stains,
a sticky mess of black and blue.