The Man on the Moon is melting
His figure distorted
Like candle wax dripping down into the inky sky
His essence forms the stars
His figure distorted
Like candle wax dripping down into the inky sky
His essence forms the stars
It is September, yet
I can still hear the beach.
The sea moves and swells;
it tumbles to the shore,
dusts itself off,
They deserve to laugh and sit on the floor and coo over babies.
They deserve to talk in a language I don’t understand.
They deserve to look at each other with love.
Sweat gathers everywhere as
I climb the golden pavement.
The known ways, the known faces
are waves in the sound.
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