Friday, November 18, 2011


Her night awaited no one.
There was no impatient fist
hovered at her door,
begging to be let in;
no man-smile
left lurking in the mirror
or perched on the rims of tea cups,
asking for another chance;
only the solitary counsel
of bedroom breaching midnight.
But her shoes still languished
under the bed,
hushed leather heels
dreaming of Barcelona,
and black net crinolines
with beads that snaked
around a lover's throat
like a soft tirade of amber

left defiant on her pillow.

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