Gazing up at me,
The moon, in my teacup,
Drowning in front of my eyes,
One tip and it becomes a crescent,
Then, a whole moon again,
Trembling as my lips hover above,
The great creator!
Left, trapped in a weathered hide,
Clinging to the sides,
Stale, pale, milky moon,
Now long forgotten
In my teacup.
2012 © LH
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