a little poem about a match made in Heaven

Not titled, nor is it finished. Or maybe it is? 

sunmoon

She is the moon,

howling

Vast and vacant

in a stardusted quilt of darkness,

holes where the sun

shines through.

He waits in the dawn

chasing her through daylight

with such love that,

sometimes,

he hangs her shadow in the sky

just to be near;

if only to admire.

To wonder

if they ever could be,

while she lights up the night

a beacon. Seeking

her beloved, the one

who illuminates her,

doomed

to elude her

but for the eclipse;

the collision: a kiss.

Because if I were the moon, and he were the sun, and we only passed each other 2.4 times per year on average, I would spend every possible second of that time kissing him, you can be damn sure. ❤

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One thought on “a little poem about a match made in Heaven

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