with instincts on his lips like eyes
crawling into their full blue moons,
her back stiffens to the suggestion
of a deep drink from the edge of his dark cup
words are exchanged for old-fashioned glances
touch is exchanged for a promised moment
in the window of an early morning but the music
of another hisses like hard rain a long way off
she shivers and dumb to her weather, he turns away
melts back into the chattering fantasies of afternoon
the room fills again with voices and before
and slivers of life and needs and now
the arch of her urgency curls back
to the familiar blade of the old longing,
no one having noticed her little attempt at escape
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