Categories
Poetry

My moon your moon our moon

We are told the moon dies

not dies

does not ascend and descend.

The moon is a thief

is perverse

is a rock

is old bold for sure but not gold.

The werewolf desires the moon

Calvino writes the moon

lovers love under the moon

the house burglar abhors the moon

the moth will with will fly into the candle flame.

No wretched heart was wrenched from within and displayed without for the moon.   

Lucy Jacobs

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