The room

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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