and the moon would throw her shoulders back

and the moon would throw

her shoulders back

​

with eyes like unripe honey

dew, offering

​

a silver ring wrapped

around her

​

finger like patina ivy

to the brick-jaw marketman,

​

gesturing towards a clutch of

cherries.

​

but he would lay his hand

across the counter

​

and ask only to dance

until the tide was low.

​

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