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Moon is a sonnet, written back in the day.

Shall I compare them to the ring of spheric sound,
Which in itself will fade, because no ears can know
A tone so pure and warm? Where, in this world, is found
A bell to chime this form and air to quake and blow?

My palms besiege my heart to kiss their soft, bronze glow;
"Two perfect shapes, that rise to lips' and tongue's intent."
Their firm yet yielding curves, curve 'round my love to show
My fingertips to kiss, my mouth to feel their scent.

As love and lust erupt, you open up to me
Your breasts to suck it in and mouth to breathe it out.
I feel their warmth imprinted on my chest, and free
My heart will mould around their grace, so I have vowed.

My hands and eyes and skin and soul and mind could try

To tell, but one brush and they fail, to touch their sky.