Lunar Sonnet by Sarah T. Jewell I am the moon to your madness, a moon that tugs against the tide in your body. When I fall into orbit around you, your tissues swell, you can barely breathe, you are brimming with brine. Your blood pulses are irregular, vessels tic and you can feel the clicks as one chamber after another fills. Your skeleton has a floral symmetry like coral, you believe it is a plant, they are listening, but it is animal. Fingers writhe like the head of Medusa, an akathisia of motion caused by my pull on your ocean. They cannot rest until I interlace my fingers with yours. I am the curse, I am the cure.