Poetry · Writing

Brilliant

Forcing blazing blue eyes across the green-blue waters into rising moon.

The crescent moon floats across the silent water in the end of June.

Crackling flames crushing old logs cooking the moon above is the only tune.

Smoke darkens the water and rises towards the moon as it will be gone soon.

Cold sand under bare thighs and fills a ten gallon hat as the gentlemen whistles away the night before high noon.

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