Gibbous Waxing

The palette of the sky is a Prussian blue

Fine and clear

A smattering of stars

A thin line of swirling veridian green clouds on the horizon.

The moon, it is Naples yellow

Words have passed over my lips

Spoken in firm resolve

The cerulean blue of your eyes

Flashed with a bit of manganese

You did not answer

You turned away

I sit alone under the waxing Gibbous moon

My pockets empty, a treasure lost.

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