The Moon
loves in lilac, sees in maroon,
swathed in gossamer and thyme of galaxies,
basking in the periwinkle pages
of my bejeweled mind,
as the night unravels a story
written in powdered vermilion,
of sun-dried moments
and bleached butterflies,
emanating wolfsbane and wisteria woes
of a maternal soul that sings for solace,
wishing sighs within clouds
carrying cotton candy lies
would see through these eyes,
and feel...
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