The sea stretches out
Like a white tabula rasa
And tonight, the full moon
Emerges in its splendor.
However, inside me,
A sadness scratches me.
I’ve called you through the deserts,
Mountains, rivers,
Lakes, forests,
Valleys, and islands,
But the echo of your voice
Has not yet caressed
The spiral of my ear.
My call,
Like a boomerang,
Only perceives the return
Of my own whispers.
I don't want sadness
To slide like fog
Into the balance
Of my nerves.
My sea is like a canvas
Of paper waiting
To be written
By your serene
Full moon gaze.
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