moonlight slipping by the curtain's edge
cuts a milk-white dagger on the doorframe
by my bed;
the long, cold sheets lay their hands
all over me, as my fingers reach for your
long, cool missing body.
there are songs roaming all through this
empty house tonight, searching for
lovers to caress;
there is a candle throbbing against
the mantel above my bed, just
melting.
i am no creature of empty eyes,
my blood is serious about its role;
no mystery is too great to decipher
when all the nights are given away.
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