Tepid at Midnight

How lonely the moon

Hangs tepid in the midnight,

Eons from her sun.



She never asked me

To write a song about her,

But how could I not?



Do you miss the rain?

Your dry, empty, dust-filled coughs

Make me pray for more.

You’d kiss anyone?

Well Krista, then I dare you

To prove it to me.



Wake before the sun

And watch it rise, glist’ning off

The sweet morning dew.



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