Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Who She Is Manuel Ocaranza, La Flor Muerta, 1868 No, she’s too much, and you shouldn’t let her. She’s quite chatty— I’m not sure if I like that. And her heart Oh, that pitiful thing. Why does she love that way? Has she no mind for what she says? It’s pathetic, that kind of devotion, that form of submission, as if the stars shine brighter to her eyes. Don’t let her get too close, she’ll never let you leave. Or, alternatively, push you far enough away that you’ll forget her name and the way her smile grew when she spoke of it. Lover of life. Lover of love. She’s far too much. And it’s rather discomfiting. She calls it passion when it’s merely madness. — A.M. Sención 10.02.2023 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Cadence “…in the end, they still ask how I am.” 2024 Where The Sky Ends "In this way, / should the moon be unattainable, then you shall fall upon a star." 12.2024 At The Mercy Of Love “The only true fear that possesses me is / that of having you no longer.” 2023

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Where The Sky Ends Luis Ricardo Phalero, Estrella Polar, 1885 Falling, like the Draconids. Quickly, then burning out before they really mature. Before they see the world for what it truly is. When to say, “I surrender”? Should you surrender? For your craft— Will I owe it to her? The young one with big eyes And virtually no idea of why anything has come to be? They’re too fast, those meteors, caring not for how the world turns. Which direction, how slowly. It’s all the same in Death’s pale eye, a cold October, when he comes to collect your pride, and all you’re left with is flesh and bone. For he takes the soul as well, of course, and there are no more dreams. There is no fall back. Simply hope—to catch yourself in the dragonfly’s way when he finds a landing. But Death has not taken my gift yet, no, not yet. And I am prideful. Beyond belief. Snuffing my desire, my flame, blinding me, thieving of my last breath is not what it takes for me to see the light. In this way, should the moon be unattainable, then you shall fall upon a star. — A.M. Sención 12.2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Nostalgia's Blade "And He’ll remember what it was like to love." 10.04.2024 Soulmate “I was made of a piece of you, / and you of me.” 2023 Simply, I Love You “…the hue of those spring-growth eyes,” 2023

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. The Boy on the Bus (31 Westbound) Robert Ladbrooke, Wood Scene, 1806 He knows not something to compare. His cries would be the same where he stands as they would be in years yet to unfold. And his mother’s face does not change in day or night. — A.M. Sención 02.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B Cigarettes and Stale Beer (Camden Market) "...it makes me want to stay—" 02.2025 Oxford Street "...the uncertainty is welcome, / the chasm in my heart, a savory pain." 02.2025

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. How Life Loves Roberto Ferri, Apollo E Dafne, 2020 I am meant to be soft in a world that moves me with calloused hands. Brusque and barbaric Setting me back down with the same scorn Beating me black and blue In such a pretty dress — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Exchange Between Heathen And Believer "As do I." 11.2024 A Poem In Disdain “My chaos. /My midnight storm.” 11.2024 Cognizance "So, behind closed doors, my mother’s doll still sits on linen." 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Inescapable Daydream Frank Bernard Dicksee, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1902 In my world you are many things. You are the eternal flame that rages within me, fueling my desires and satiating my cravings. My brightest and coolest days. The knight who cares for nothing more than my hand; to take me far, far away. To look after me while I pick berries or the day's bouquet. That’s just what it is. An immeasurable yearning for your saving. The desire to be the princess you rescue, to do unthinkable things for. You’re the love who’d climb my window, sweat above your brow after skulking past the guards, my hair cascading down my back, rippled from the pleated styles I’m told are only acceptable. Where we’d share sweet strings of rebellion, and I’d offer you a pink aster from the arrangement that was picked that morning in return. We would sneak off into secret crevices of the royal garden only I know of, where your hands would trace the curve of my waist, trailing up all the layers of skirts and coats, my fingers tangled and tugging on brown curls that when struck by rays of the sun are the color of the finest polished ambers in the first glint of dawn. We’d do and say things the elders would deem absolutely sinful, immoral. Unforgivable, wicked. Soon thereafter, we’d stroll as if nothing happened. By the hand, while I pluck marigolds, dahlias, carnations. Occasionally hiding from my father’s guards that had been sent out in my search after skipping lecture. Helping me mount the stallion, you hold the reins in your hand, where every so often I reach down with my own and caress, asking you to ride behind me for support I didn’t really need. Giving in and settling down at my hips, I’d melt into you, carefully avoiding the blade hanging off to your side. Luckily, the creature would grow old to our antics and would know just where to go despite the lack of guidance. Lost in the depths of your eyes, and your lips hovering just above mine, he’d take us away. If the story goes that I am to wed another, you wouldn’t allow it, and we would run away before even considering it. And if it goes that you are the prince I am betrothed to and we have the luxury of also being in love, then all the better. Nevertheless, you are mine. And our story goes that no matter what, we always belong to each other. — A.M. Sención 2021 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more At The Mercy Of Love “The only true fear that possesses me is / that of having you no longer.” 2023 I Can “…when all the difference lies in ink and paper.” 2024 The Devil's angel "Men who feel love / never lack a good heart, / so I wished my soul bound to his. " 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Cigarettes and Stale Beer (Camden Market) Joseph Mallord William Turner, The Garreteer's Petition, 1809 in my most comforting presence. A Sunday roast, beer I hadn’t asked for, Plans I didn’t make. within vague familiarity, I feel at ease. It shouldn’t console me. Shouldn’t be a place of solace. Shouldn’t kindle nostalgia. It should be perturbing. Should be a thing of fear. Should incite reminiscence. But it makes me want to stay— makes me comfortable with the discomfort. — A.M. Sención 02.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B The Boy on the Bus (31 Westbound) "He knows not / something to compare." 02.2025 Primrose Hill "Dismay— / and truly being alone." 02.2025

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Cadence Charles Haigh Wood, Gossip Is it the cadence? The tone, perhaps. Can you read the tone in pixelated words? Whatever it is, I’ve got to figure this out. How to make people believe inauthenticity escapes me? How to make them believe you actually do care? Because I do. But then, why do I feel like they see me as something artificial? Am I not who I think I am? Useless, useless question, Because, in the end, they still ask how I am. — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more A Poem In Disdain “My chaos. /My midnight storm.” 11.2024 How Life Loves "...meant to be soft / in a world that moves me with calloused hands." 2024 Cognizance "So, behind closed doors, my mother’s doll still sits on linen." 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Exchange Between Heathen and Believer Charles West Cope, The Thorn, 1866 I love you. As do I. — A.M. Sención 11.2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Nostalgia's Blade "And He’ll remember what it was like to love." 10.04.2024 How Life Loves "...meant to be soft / in a world that moves me with calloused hands." 2024 Simply, I Love You “…the hue of those spring-growth eyes,” 2023

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. I Can Serge Ivanoff, The violinist, 1893-1983 Doubt no further, For what is there to? His accomplishments are not mine own, and so, they shall never be. Does this, then, make me unworthy? A piece of paper with a title? Or lack thereof Is my mind incapable of such arts? That which, coming from him, would be no less striking than from my hand? Perhaps even less so. Misunderstand not, for I am not better; but to exist on the same plane should not feel like a crime, something to be exiled for, or something to make me feel fraudulent when all the difference lies in ink and paper. — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Nostalgia's Blade "And He’ll remember what it was like to love." 10.04.2024 Soulmate “I was made of a piece of you, / and you of me.” 2023 How Life Loves "...meant to be soft / in a world that moves me with calloused hands." 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Primrose Hill Charles Allston Collins, May, in the Regent's Park, 1851 Serenity is the birds in the trees with colors I’d never known, against a most saddened landscape. Bruised mauves, ghosted gold.. I had not known solitude either— for all its weary grief— could be so rich; was what I needed most: an unsettled feeling that lies upon your lungs like Tartini’s devil, a world both dead and ancient. Serenity is the stillness, where just beyond lies chaos, and nothing but, tucked in bed like a child. Serenity, this bliss, is an unexpected visit at the bookshop. Had I met her eye, she’d have known our lover. it is frozen fingers that bleed, and teary eyes, and thousands of miles from all I have known. Dismay— and truly being alone. Serene — A.M. Sención 02.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B Oxford Street "...the uncertainty is welcome, / the chasm in my heart, a savory pain." 02.2025 Braveheart (Montague Street) “...siempre demasiado lejos de mí.” 04.07.2025