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Our Breath Is Paled By The October Moon
Our breath is paled by the October moon—
I'm miming prints with her glance on glass;
But by window magic, don't we all swoon
To this season's world so barred and so blast.
I'm cloudy like the clouds, behind her pain—
Her light— end of trees' blush— leaves cast
Down, fall into my dangling veins.
Will she chip out there sometime soon,
Than fain be subtle— for playing eye games—
From repeat romance, she's no hypocrite.
She is all but their working boon,
But sometimes— their understood innocence.
Her silent voice out from my screams, croons—
Our breath is paled by the October moon.
Copyright ©
Paige Hind
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