A Knight But Not That One
The wind serpentines my hood against my cheek
the embers of my half smoked cig jettison
the greyed darkness in a flurry
brushing the collar and shoulder
to remove the silencing ash
shivering in the winds cold touch
the friction heat of my rubbing
hands offering little respite
and then the kiss of rainclouds
first born
Staring at a slowly fading facade
of an aquine moon
as the wind mounts its attack
on the whisping clouds
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