Night Fox

 

 

There’s a furtive current bending my will,

Perched in nonchalance as night slowly cowers;

The turquoise fox slips by my windowsill.

 

My Thoughts are lost on memory’s lone hill,

Echoed solemn through the fed drip of hours;

There’s a furtive current bending my will.

 

This hollow thirst, this thirst I can’t fulfill

Flakes mottled in her night of ours;

The turquoise fox slips by my windowsill.

 

Glimpsed the tail: a splayed thread to unravel twill

Or the crimson shadow presaged by scours;

There’s a furtive current bending my will.

 

The tussle segues to the dull groan of a beaten thrill-

Caressed oblique in each poignant bead of nightly showers;

The turquoise fox slips by my windowsill.

 

Cold’s messenger hummed a frost to glass’s chill,

Eyes strain a fear for the secret lost before it flowers.

There’s a furtive current bending my will.

The turquoise fox still slips by my windowsill.

 

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