Isn't it strange how the sky doesn't know
how much he is beloved by all those
who lay under?
But the moon, I'm certain
that she knows.
She watches me, knowingly, until I
feel ashamed.
She watches me invasive
on my bed. She stares while I'm
naked, intently, looking directly
into my face.
Isn't it strange how she knows
without having a concept of language
or names?
I stare back
at her.
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