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Noctes Illa

the moonlight seeps through my curtain
illuminates a square of my bedspread where
I sit and think of you

the room is cold
my fingers tremble,
remembering your hand on my arm
your eyes meeting mine as
I sit and think of you

your face swims before me
the haunted eyes and long lashes

even in the frosted, pungent night air
I can still smell you
your cologne lingers on my clothes
the sandalwood soap you use to wash the pain away

somewhere, a mockingbird calls...
Fool! Fool! You have lost!

4 April 2000