Painting of an Old Emotion
You looked like,
against the setting sun,
a mixture of orange and pink and beauty.
Your tiny smirk,
etched smoothly on your face,
was coy and sneaky,
and always followed me out of the door.
Eyes that gave breath to the Sun,
and pale light to the Moon,
stare up at me,
with a longing stare.
Maybe I'll return it,
maybe I won't,
your casting net has reached me,
in that far ocean of myself.
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