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Iris Magazine 

New Beginnings

Creative Entries

to be the unlucky mediator between celestial bodies

Sarah Sharples

I stare at the moon so long She releases Herself

to me. I pluck Her from the sky,

a ripe berry from a bush. The distance between us

a thousandth of what it is between She and I, yet

tonight She hangs heavy in my pocket.

The rhythm of my step soothes Her

and where are you?


I sit quietly on the pavement, attracting stares.

I will do anything to seduce Her,

turn Her gaze and make Her love me. Meanwhile

you run wild under Her serenity,


The thought of it empties me—

the thought of someone tarnishing Her divinity with that sort of arrogance.


She will be mine; I, Hers; I will love Her as long as

She will allow.

Sometime tonight Her remains

will become stuck in your teeth, souring

with the rot of your drunken breath. Your hollow

corrupts Her holy, O

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