Hurt

It  hurts  pretensions of deep inside
Trying to save soul for a body's sake
But a rejection is not an untrue poem
Nor a cold truth waiting to be laid bare.

A room or a stone is no atmosphere
For the reddest moon of twelve years
That will sit pretty at  a ladder's edge.

Water tank holds air in water of moon
The latter tossing about as china break
Splinters dancing about to the breeze.

Flowers flicker as moon's star servants
In the fragrance of its liquid soft light
Hurting love in the very flesh of  heart
The moon hurts and is hurt by clouds
But temporarily and this too shall pass.

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