They floated along the river, silently. The moon had undressed for the night, displaying its perfection, generously bathing them with purity. She leaned over – whispered something. She covered her mouth, a slight squeal escaped. The moon cowered behind a cloud, fearful. Her hand slipped, her head was thrown back, mouth wide, shoulders shaking and a full-blown assault on the ears was unleashed as joy tickled her belly. And as she laughed, the moon retreated, shed a tear, and wished she had remained beautiful.
© The Londoner, July 2011
This was inspired by a friend who wasn’t afraid of being honest with me. Thank you.