It’s late at night and the moon is still dark,
it does not come out at it’s midnight time,
and there’s a hole in it’s usual mark,
a hole about the size of a shark.
You held up your hand to where it should be,
and you looked between your wrapped up fingers,
and believed you’d pulled it out at the seams,
and looked to the stars with similar schemes.
The moon took to hiding, and chose your eyes,
where it has hidden since I first saw them,
pretending to be plain, full of such lies,
but I have recognized the lie in your eyes.
So
you smile, and patronize me,
but
know my dear, I meant no flattery.
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