Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Claudine Toutoungi Apostrophe Tonight the white moon is as slim as a fingernail. Slick as grammar, this slender curl, The night sky’s Apostrophe of Possession. How easily it stakes its claim. Cool ivory. Made by some celestial brushstroke, One fell lick to say- There. That’s mine. How would it be if I could hook you with such certitude, My arm, curving around your shoulders? Next Poem
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