There rose the generous belly of the moon,
apricot blushed, a baked soufflé,
only to hide then, shy of the gaze of humans,
later reappearing up high,
so white, luminous, cold,
in full radiance of her youth,
casting sharp, deep, clear-cut shadows,
bathing the universe in her quier luster,
thus making the street lights,
stiff on their stems,
look like faded flowers.
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