June 26, 2010
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The invasiveness of this night,
Is realized in its harsh murk.
This cold night and I
Are foreign to one another.
No clement draft raising the bristles of my spine,
Nor the rush of song in the sky,
Nor the palm of a beloved beau.
Desolate, I anticipate its caress.
The darkness whose flame coated fingers
Extend to kiss my lids,
Those abounding humble lights,
Though bantam they may be...
My heart covets them.
They are my sole consolation
On this companionless night,

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