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It's a poem about the f*cking moon, idk anymore. 
By Rose Rutkowski Posted in Uncategorized on November 4, 2020 One Comment
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The moon smiled;

it was almost time.

She stretched and flexed,

laying down closer to the horizon

for her best, most delicious angle.

Any second.

She could almost feel the warmth

before he crested.

She shuddered in anticipation.

Slowly,

so agonizingly slowly,

the first tendrils of his rays peaked

over the mountains to the east.

She almost squeaked in anticipation.

All month

they had only caught glimpses

of one another,

and the thought of finally seeing him,

face to face,

sent a thrill through her dimpled body.

She could see now,

beyond the waste between them,

his ascent.

He brought morning to her soul.

As he rose,

and shined so brightly at her,

she could feel his relief

that mirrored her own.

The moon beamed.

idk moon Poem Poetry sun


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