Moons Of Moons
B
Barry Middleton
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Some women do
walk as goddesses.
I see her in mist,
exotic and mystical,
a heavenly grace,
a Utopian ideal.
Adrift in fantasy
she dwells,
as if a slow waltz
plays just for her.
Yet her foot falls
print the dew,
albeit diamond like
in sunlight.
Her laughter
is a velvet melody.
Her dark eyes,
are moons of moons.
Her radiant lips
await a lover's kiss.
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