J. Burgess

August 16, 1999 - Dundonald, Belfast
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pearlescent, glance

The moon will never become our sun
Even if it crashed into a desert
With great sheets and burning embers
Of which you mould silver and gold
To shine on a delicate neck
It will float above our earth forever
Pearlescent, our kiss under a tree
Like a stage-light for bright moments
Washing us ashore with the tide
Onto a wet beach with white light
I’ll shiver in the warmth of your touch
As we glance at the great rock in the sky.
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