Heavenly moony lure, beings seem dark.
Shadows of the past loom large over me.
This is important to the interpretation of the book—it’s not just a tale, it’s a device
You smile a moonlit island. Tender, in a bed of gardenias.
...sitting by the sofa, bought in a fit of unfocused ambition
So open this book. Read.
I break with my hand, that wraps around fingers
How your eyes dissolve the melancholy of nights staring up
I tore it open and removed every book
Here you may live a hundred hollow dark years.