In the middle of the room
Is a glimmer in the gloom
Just the beating of the moon
On the roof.
As it tries to slip inside
Open willing, open wide
On the shingles it resides
Still aloof.
Light a candle in the dark
Make it, mix it, mark it, spark!
As your lashes shift and smart
From the light.
If your heartbeat starts to race
Turn and tilt it from your face
(Or below a crystal vase)
Out of sight.
So the beating of the black
Is compiling in a stack
And you cannot take it back
Anymore.
Maybe now you can forget
The elusive lucid net
Of pellucid, prude regrets
That were poured.
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