Burning Skin

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The moon always rises

before the work is finished.

Calm, soothing,

it means no harm.

Stars, planets, galaxies

the night brings peace.

My moon was her pearls,

her confident posture,

her waves of gold.

The sun will not set

when olive skin is burning.

Defiant, stubborn

while its inferno blazes.

Cracked pavement, dry soil,

the day does not cease.

My sun was her regrets,

her forlorn moods,

her bruises.

The moon has gone,

and the sun never sets

when I'm on my own.

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