When the moon is your story joti heir

My Man My Moon

His eyes seemed so soft

They only came to me when the manager of the lights of the city

shut them down

Moon also that night did not come

Moon’s light’s are pretterier than everyone else’s

If it wasn’t blasphemous, I would say I want to make love to the moon

But this man sat with his soft eyes

The moon and sun must have wanted me to know him

Because they disappeared, even thought one of them should be there

He was a gorgeous fella as they say, calm, resolute, but eyebrows that talked for days.

I sat down next to him.

“Hey mister,” I said.

“What’s happening Lady, I have business to attend,” he said

“Can I attend it with you?” I asked.

“Darling, this ain’t your kind of racket,” he said.

His eyes said different, and I wanted to be a part of his racket.

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