teal

by
As you glance toward a memories' hour,
you hear some weezery whispers coming
from the sun and stars. They seem to be
the gift of a charlatan with the audience
in a surplus of nothingness, well wrapped
in the ingenuity of a teal hue that breathes
and shines between the teeth of the moon.
Took just a jiff to catch you in joy's attire
as you glanced toward a memories' hour.

poetic audience

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