Do you remember
the birdscratch
words etched
for you
on the wall,
fine black love-note
for the one
I let slip
through my fervent,
seeking hands?

The dying day
melts into lamplight.
golden-hemmed petticoats
fold into midnight’s
steep black shadow,
so heavy I cannot
see the verdant furrow
of the coniferous
giants outside
the window,

nor the solitary star
behind grey drifts of moonlit clouds.

In this vespertine somnolence
I imagine
your fingers
brushing upon the tremulous
letters like sacred relics
paltry lines
attempting to transcend
every perfidy and
insidious selfishness

that carved my initials
into your


Ring the Call Button

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