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Ice Cream Moon

Eastward,
a fat ice cream moon makes faces
And the surrounding navy hurries me home,
it's urgency fanfared on my flush cheeks.

Starglass salts still fallen on the ground
twinkles;
I'm tricked to think it's silverbane ice,
scratched silently patterned below.

If I believe hard enough,
I can hear snow crunching under my feet.

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