“Martian moons are Phobos and Deimos,
the latter translated as Panic,” I told you then.
It was mid-way through our junior year–our glory days.
I would leave you that very next week for California.
The last time we drove around the lake in your jeep,
open air, breeze whipping the hair against our ears, you
replied: “I don’t believe in moons, stars or planets.”
I still don’t know what you mean.
"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"
In the gaze of the other 