Crescent Moon - Poem by ulysses hero
How strange it is
to lie in utter darkness,
a nipple to the shroud.
And some would say, it is
a lovers smile
aroused by the tepid motion
of a clouds slow caress.
But if I that moon,
that quisling to the night,
I'd lift the mantle, the widows veil,
and move towards a kiss.
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