The stars whispered our astral names, I could hear mine, and
rest were just rearing and receding.
I waited, to hear yours, truly I did. Billowing words plumes
up, as we indulge in romanticism .
The half eaten moon shivers and the dim light blotches, I
could see the stars shining, like tinsels, wrinkling slowly, naughtily teasing
us.
A spreadsheet hammock, where the stars could narrate the
tales of me and you.
And the lonely moon shy away, in the company of the myriad of
stars. The purity and the piousness
that it holds, make it divine and beloved, blessing us in times
and beyond.
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