Streaking

I wait,
hugging my own apple-white
skin to my bones
feeling the softness of my free limbs
and of the fresh earth,
all exposed in the October night.
Seven more naked women climb the fence in front of me,
shameless and alive as the stars.
We are part of the infinite sky and the wind that raises
goosebumps on
my bare and tingling breasts,
warm and lolling like
the cat's tongue.
Like sprites we guard the trees,
waving back at the sleepy leaves and
howling at the moon,
who shakes her ageless head but smiles at us,
exasperated at her children.
Women, I realize,
are alike;
we are made of the same parts,
and I can see clearly now
we are not so different,
out here in the sea of stars
that shows us as we are.





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