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You rise alone at dusk, 

sick with longing;

a melancholy romantic,   

pale reflection of desire,

intent on seduction.

 

Your glance, inscrutable,

beguiles with suggestion,

creates shades of possibility,

among fragrant borders,

transplanted with lust.

 

You suck tsunamis from the deep

That sweep me from the beach     

to drown in your mystery,

that cold, silent accomplice

that fate cannot  deny.  

 

40 years ago this week, Neil Armstrong and Edwin ‘Buzz’ Aldrin landed and walked on the moon.  ‘One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’    

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