Wayward Visions

A veil of sheer repose
glimmers deep
within your
starry-eyed
soul.

Gazing yet chasing,
lunar illusions,
the sound of
distant thunder
allures a moon
away.

Lying here,
partly grounded,
a pair of fingers
pinpoint
Polaris,
connecting the corners
of all creation.

Allowing the
light to
draw us closer
than before,
you lose strength
in our magnetic field;
we think of nothing but mindless matter.

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