On the moon we wore feathers in our hair, and rubies on our hands. On the moon we had gold spoons.
On the moon we have everything. Lettuce, and pumpkin pie and Amanita phalloides. We have cat-furred plants and horses dancing with their wings. All the locks are solid and tight, and there are no ghosts.
I was pretending that I did not speak their language; on the moon we spoke a soft, liquid tongue, and sang in the starlight, looking down on the dead dried world.
Today my winged horse is coming and I am carrying you off to the moon and on the moon we will eat rose petals.
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