Two deep wells in his face reflect the night
And my enchanted face, but not the moon.
His hands were strong enough to offer me
The swirling universe, but not the moon.
His honeyed serenade hid a wasp’s sting;
He spoke of many things, but not the moon.
His shoulders bent with the weight of the world,
He held up the heavens – but not the moon.
He owned everything but that silver orb,
So I carved out ‘Samantha’ on the moon.
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