liebe, der Mond
the party’s only just begun; or: an open starter
nary a soul should be allowed to remain quiet under the loud moon, shifting anew for brighter nights and colder days under the sun that will soon give littler warmth and nothing-heat. it’s an eclipse of a poem that’s lasted all spring and summer, the dawn of a eulogy to life, and jun sings with his lungs hoarse with alcohol and smoke. under leather he’s still ill-suited to the cold breeze just around the next sunrise, but that’s in a few hours yet and warmth, to be true, must be earned now in this body than in another. he laughs to the tune of cracking wood and beating fire, eating air and bending just as it does, over the waist, with one hand holding onto his drink.
he turns when he’s calmed, drawn away from the anchor bright and glittering in the depths of the night, and leans back against his fold-out seat, feet outstretched and bare on the sand. his other hand holds a half-full bottle of beer, hitting his companion’s arm lightly with the half he isn’t holding.
“hey,” is an apology rarely-said, carried into his mouth and out with parts of a nervous laugh. his fingers card through his hair, and it’s a smile, it is, drawn back by that veil, unraveled with the spirits of the night and the spirits he’s consumed throughout. “hey, we haven’t talked much lately, have we? you’re not scared of me or something, are you?”