Spilt Milk

Tonight, as we lay in the silence of the hour,

we are watched by The Mother –

The Moon

 

She sits still, unmoving, basking in the safety of the darkness,

warm and snug between the stars,

her reflection bouncing off the high points of your cheeks

with each turn of your head.

 

I do not know what is sadder:

The way she is able to rob the

Sun of his light and claim it as her own,

 

Or the way he so easily gives it up…

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