Somewhere between the closing of a lid
And the way we in the world absorb your eyes
Is a place where beauty takes voice
Speaks its refusal...to leave.
A disquiet that precedes rebellion
takes hold in this tiny space
As skin holds the ripeness of light
To curl around the cherry lips
The warming of the inner side
Rises to the side we see.
Frailty becomes a delicate petal of night
in the moon’s special flavor;
Wrapped in the hour of its own choosing.
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