Moths - drunk on night
Scented stock and Jasmine
licking - with helical
glee - the salt condensation
from goose rippled skin.
Stars alive with the skittering
paths of angle shades, twisting,
inelegant - brimstone on my eyes,
cinnabar and hawk along
the brow - held in spiral arms.
Their graceless trace
lurching from the deep
of night to the cold of morning.
Star shaped among the blades
I'm waiting for the sun.

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