Suppose
Suppose the sun was a hot ingenue
The moon a cold little debutante
Taunting you with all that light
Masquerading, lacquered night parades
Sleek in her couture gown designs
Slippry as the seaweed dancing iris eyes
Glowing, stars fall snowing growing wide
Thought is like a shadowy avenue
Following the haunted ones
Life is all that they could ever want
To rewrite the script so their dreams come true
Suppose the sun was a hot ingenue
The moon a cold little debutante.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2015-08-27 at 00:21
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