#45

A wall carefully built, brick by brick, sticky mortar still drying, smashed by stolen glances, bubbling laughter, the passage of pavement. Two beasts beckon the moon with their bodies, call it forth. Sprinting across the sand, leaving dark endless pits in their wake. Their bodies strike the cold white water, waves taste their flesh and agree with the flavor. They crouch, hunched around a hesitant fire, salt tightening their goosebumped skin. Bricks continue to fall, to crumble, until the moon sheds its clouds like a robe. The two beasts howl their gratitude into the darkness.