That old devil moon

For Miles

It never entered my mind that the kind of blue, the blue in green,
could simply squeeze me like a night in Tunisia, where smooch
sometimes follows great expectations, but often settles for alone
together. But as I know that it’s only a paper moon that is chasing
the bird when lights are low and everyone tries to catch that ole devil
called love, I can still choose between the blue moods of the nature
boy, Morpheus, and walkin’ with my old flame, Venus di Milo,
‘round midnight in the green haze of dear Old Stockholm, whispering,
“I waited for you.”

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