Small Hours

Eros hung from the true cross half-blinded

“Bring sweet-breads and water,” he plied.

In my dream-vigil

cranes carried love to his lips-

and soft, like an angel, he sighed.

 

Mice bore down on Love’s bindings,

he gave me his Harlequin mask,

we played charades under the moonlight

letting the small hours pass.

 

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2 thoughts on “Small Hours

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