Moonwalking Memoirs
I'm
the
white fog
layered on
gold-jasmine face of
the orange moon, shimmering with
shy starships and laced along hailstones of honesty;
When the sapphires of earth are etched with orchestral milky beams, smeared with ominous balms,
I want you to weave a cherry-crescent with periwinkle dreams and let aqua-pink amulets swing with gossamer threads of lotus-life,
which shall pull my sempiternal heartstrings, as frost of the last snow kisses the lunar orchards, twirling upon maroon ruins of moonwalking memories. I'll forever be that silver haze, lingering in your soul's seascapes.
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