While darkness accumulates
all expectations shed
like chameleon lace.
A waterwheel of wings
rattles the window.
The pane rises by
the night hawk’s beak.
She slips inside his coat
feathered by scent of cloves.
They fly beyond
an eyelash of moon
Until dawn’s pulse
sends a bead of honey
to her lips.
She returns
hungry for words.
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