We are quite lustful before moonrise…

We are quite lustful before moonrise.
The night is vanishing,
humming from beneath a canopy of scattered clouds.
We dispel doubts before morning.
Face it! The embers are dying,
from white hot to dark gray around the fire.
You blame yourself.
The lust is gone,
flickering, seeking,
fading,
as sunlight touches your face.
Down what streets
will you wander
before you return?

by Thomas Wigington

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