text: &#x200B; **If the Moon Was My Lover** "If the moon was my lover I'd never uncover My nakedness during the day. The sun might get jealous and angrily tell us to keep our love hidden away." **His Moon, His Lover** Jan the psychercosmemtolergist drank a drink and took a toke and swallowed a couple of pills. A computer was turned off, some clothes were installed, and keys were jammed into the right front pants pocket. A door was opened, the outside world tried to come in, but the inside world pushed it roughly back. A door was slammed, and Jan set off for a midnight rendezvous. Night had seen this scene many times before. She was warm, if breezy. Oak pollen was aggravating asthma and allergies all over the neighborhood, but especially here and now. Jan sniffed and his eyes watered, and he wondered if he would be dying soon. He put on his coronavirus mask. That seemed to help. The sky was scanned, though obscured by buildings and trees and dimmed by streetlights. "Where is she?" he wondered. "She better be there when I get there." And a couple of blocks passed by, unnoticed while preoccupations preoccupied and obsessions obsessed. A low wall caught his attention, blocking his way. There was a fence above it, with hedge behind. The cemetery fence was more decorative than effective, and the hedge had an almost imperceptible gap, well-known to Jan. He clambered through, and made his way to the willow tree. He was almost afraid to look, if she wasn't there he had no idea what he would do next. But the terrible dark shadow of the weeping willow betrayed her presence. His eyes were enraptured by the glory of her face. He removed his mask and his clothing, laid down in the grass, and let her have her way with him. In the morning, the sun angrily rose early, and burned Jan with his beams. The earth was soon covered with roiling rising breaths of steam, and Jan hastily wiped himself off with some dirt and leaves, got denakefied, and ran back home. **Are His Thoughts Trying to Kill Him?** He tried to lay down, but he thought of the moon, and got up to go to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet, but could not perform, because the thought of the moon left him impotent and constipated. So he took a shower, coming out still unclean, because he forgot to wash himself. He had no appetite left, except for her ladyship, so he turned on the news. It wasn't uninteresting, mostly about the latest atrocities of the pandemic. A commercial came on, allowing Jan to return to pondering about his experiences with and possible future with the moon. She of the cold dark sky, so bright herself, sensuous, loving........willing. It was Sunday, and psychercosmemtolergists never work on Sunday, unless they're on call, and Jan wasn't. Lurching back outside, distracted with lunar contemplations, he trod in some dog shit, and because he was wearing sandals it got all up between his toes. He barely noticed. On a bench waited his lovely soul mate, reeking irresistible perfume, and gazing at him with alluring eyes. He passed her by without a glance. In the cafe, a bird-like autistic child stared at him, while holding her nose and wrinkling her face in disgust. An overweight black lady, arms covered with ghetto tattoos, was busy emptying the trash can. She observed loudly, without looking his way "Man...something sure does stink around here!" Coffee cup in hand, he nearly got hit by the bus as he rushed across the street, headed to the nearby park. Two muggers tried to get his attention from an obscure alleyway. He passed them unaware. A poisonous snake slithered quickly out of the way, reluctant to bite the smelly poo-covered foot. He was thinking about the moon so much, you can imagine how it ruined his life. His friends and family feared he had become self-destructive or suicidal. No, what he had become was oblivious to that part of reality which wasn't the moon. But it was skin cancer that ultimately did him in.