Swallowing The Moon

I thought of it
as swallowing the moon
when, paper-thin,
that wafer was placed upon
my extended tongue.

I was reminded
the moon is an arid place
when, going down,
it always stuck to the roof
of my mouth.

I accepted it as
one would a baby aspirin
that, dissolving,
bleached sins bone-white
with moonlight.

And yet I envied
the brightness of others
who, believing
they’d consumed the Son,
glowed eternally.


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