Full Moon On a Cold November Morning

full moon,

4 am,

bright, cold, November morning,

Nicholson and Hell’s Angels,

playing on the television,

writing words as they come,

words that will be long gone,

by the light of day;

I think of you,

holding you,

being with you,

making love to you;

one night,

one moment,

one chance,

gone forever;

loving you,

is like loving the wind,

unreachable,

untouchable,

here today;

gone tomorrow.

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