15% of Full

My energy correspondingly wanes

and so does his. I’m down with flu,

he’s lagging just a day or two behind

with the same exhaustion that hit me

twenty-four hours ago. He has taken

to his bed with The Australian Author.

He is an Australian Author — 

but perhaps not The. I am one too,

but similarly....  Why am I sitting here

making poems, when I could be snuggling?

I guess I’ll be doing that to my dying day.

Making poems that is, not snuggling.

‘Not snuggling.’ It’s a theme.

I want to be comforted, babied,

now that I’m past the crabby phase.

(Lucky for me he’s not there yet.)

The moon and I are becoming 

littler, younger, foetally curled.

Journalling my relationship with the moon: 24