MY DAILY BALM

Written by: nette onclaud



and to sneak outside, into the soft fragrance of the night when all sea and earth creatures are asleep, save for other night birds like me… and to tiptoe on naked earth, in the dancing, dappled sashays of ink, porcelain and chrome strewn across the grass, by lights glossing through the air- blown crowns of the trees i love the taste of the moon... tangerine, compared to the metal taste of the blistering noontime temperature. and to inhale the embroidery of evening, to me, is to be filled with soothing solace. as one can see ...sneaking outside, in the din of hours, to speak with her, my moon--- round or sliced and concave--- has been a passage and ritual of mine since I was a girl child. and to chase this orb and know if she is waxing or waning with my thirsty eyes, i cling to her symphonies and silence it is so, till I snuff out from this earthscape if you see a butterfly maiden, strolling the lines of a porch or street in slit hours sometime before twilight... it is simply me, once more, inhaling my moon tasting this delicacy... this luna of beauty i need as my daily passion and balm; lest i die
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