My Night
Covering amongst
day’s festivity,
night’s tiny
sparkle –
his eyes,
muttering the
lurk of
a damp,
somber dawn;
the trickling
of hued
droplets fringing
the wavering
green of
dark, deep
wells;
the sweep
of an owl,
cutting past
the daggers
of wind,
the flesh of
my
controlled reflexes.
His day of
Mosaic
intuitions –
my night
of his
absence.
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