Desire on Speedway Boulevard, Thursday Night, In April, Under a Full Moon

The moon hung there, pinned to a fading lapis sky, between the glowing sign for Dirt Bags and the newly re-modeled neon high rise. Its prominence and reign over the valley was supreme as traffic pulsed through the intersection of Speedway and Campbell. Platinum disc, it swelled over the ridge, sending beams of desire through miles and millennia, photons pounding against the car doors and hearts beating inside a hundred thousand chests out driving on a Thursday night, oblivious to the commonality, the shared sky, the secret hunger to know each other. The light changed, and I too joined the broiling herd, heading east, toward the lover, toward the moon that now lifted out of her birth greatness, shrinking, growing harder, but brighter for the darkness that spread across the sky like a sheet pulled over a still warm corpse.