Children of the dark, we stood in scratchy nightgowns beneath the waxing moon. Your eyes were flashes of obsidian, deep set and startling against pale skin and hollow cheekbones.

 

I was mesmerized by the pulse in your throat, fluttering like a tiny bird.

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It didn’t matter that the moon was not quite full, we assured each other; neither were we, ourselves, at the peak of fullness. Growing too fast that summer, all knees and elbows and awkwardness, bruises worn like jewelry throughout the sweltering season, not yet at the age of vanity.

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We stood barefoot in the dew-kissed grass between our houses, wary of toads, while moms and dads, baby brothers and sisters slumbered, engaged in the dreams of the righteous: sunshine and happiness, new toys, and easy money.

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Moonlight flashed, reflecting off the pilfered razor as I sliced across your palm and then my own, breath hissing out through teeth in new braces. Crimson droplets were caught on blades of tall fescue to be discovered at dawn by Coco, the neighbor’s spaniel.

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Hands clasped, cuts stinging, our foreheads pressed together, we exchanged vows on Crest-scented whispers; pledging to meet in the afterlife.