In this hotbed
of entrancing love
we make our feelings
dear with sure
intent, and through
a glowing curtain
of the night
will cool, and sleep,
and ring the crazy
moon in dream —
till in descent
we touch the mundane
morning with a facade
staged cold,
oblivious and right,
we’ll discuss
a just good morning
with not a mention
of the passed good night.
Sally Plumb
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