Moonlight

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Moonlight was made for drinking.

Inviolate fluid, iron-blue candent

milk dampening the halos of

angels, enveloping every

celestial and earthly body,

longing for an endless vessel.

Luna pleads for sweet

exsanguination. She bleeds

light and entreats us drink

deep. Call it what you will,

gibbous milk or night's white

blood, but gorge. It was made

for lips moistened, open,

greedy and devourous. 

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