My mood peculiar by the moon

In the quaint darkness I hear these whispers,
my mood peculiar by the moon…
arcane eyes transcend a flame fluttering there,
near the window pane candle’s light burns,
turns my thought to dimensions that dwindle
like a solemn spindler’s yarn of silky weaves
of conceived creation by the swindler’s hands
that harden by the years of gifting love’s deeds,
yet gentled by the reeds of nature’s brood…
my mind peculiar by the moon.
The air around breathes life in as breath fades away,
as day becomes the soul of night
and night the fading breath of yesterday…
all the while we play and dance at will
while willing the love we feel to feel
as though breath itself be the only true,
I breathe in you…
my mood peculiar by the moon
I breathe in you

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