We are friends.

We are perfect
Because I am the moon
and you, you are the sun.
There are more of each of them.
But my fingers weave pull strings
through the tides, in direct correlation
with the colors of my eyes.
Moods rise, and fall, and sweep debris,
how to be sure no-one else
has a chance to cut me.
I need to believe,
again.
We are friends.

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