sometimes, she resembles artemis taking midnight walks in a sea of moon glint; her laughter, pale and silvery as if they are made of the moonlight itself. they say that ohio is for lovers so tonight, she will leave languid kisses on sadness' flesh and bones; they are made of all the seas and all the beds she has ever drowned in. but tonight, she will walk with the moonglades dancing on the waters of cincinnati, hand in hand and coming undone, as the moon rises from the ghost towns in her mind.
she goes on — treading waters, and somewhere in the background is her silhouette, a flickering shadow of the candle fire, slowly melting, the darker half of the moon, setting in the west, drowning in the tides. and somewhere in the background is her silhouette, slowly crumbling to a heap of mess. and somewhere in the background is her silhouette, pallid and gray —