We met under broken starlight; she alone was my moon that blessed night and we had no need for any other. Shy, inexperienced, demure, yes she was all of these things, but she was generous also to this lovesick swain and that has made all the difference, I recognize now.

At first we waltzed, uncertainly, then gradually more wrapped up in the emotion of the perfect moment which seemed to cascade in torrents all about us, star light giving way to a liquid warmth like no other, we clung to one another entwined. It was astonishing that I could not feel her beating heart, but perhaps it was lost in the noise that was the aftermath of our sweet anointing from above. I felt the touch of a bashful hand. Then the light failed altogether there, and our mouthparts met, a last caress which leads me now only to sigh "Oh, the things we cannot have."

That was six days and six nights ago, and I have no idea where she has gone off to. No time for thoughts of loneliness and shattered dreams, however, for soon now, soon and very soon, the product of our coming together there in the hair will blossom.

Our nits.