the still electricity
of you,
wrapping around
the room,
unpainted and white,
soft;
as summer's sneaking-
up
round the corner of
your eye;
her shadowed blinds
half open,
that pawed sunlight, strobed
by blades
barely turning in naked air.
quiet electricity,
spun by summer's slow
retreat,
a steady rumba beat,
you;
stretched cross the floor
bare,
brown-clothed hard, and unhurried,
fastened
button by button down the
stairs,
bending on a banister-
rail,
holding hands with fingers
crossed.
her legs quiver as summer
bows
to warm green eventide,
curling
into the room's dark corners,
licked;
the worn- wooden planks,
where
a thousand stocking feet
tiptoed
past the fleeing sun's pale
sentry,
circled once, and bough- felled
fast
asleep.
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