First Impressions
You read Kipling.
I sipped red and
watched
your pale blue scan.
Shadow played.
Midnight crept.
We talked of poets & poetry,
art & artists,
and twined aesthetics
like so many fingers
in each other's hands.
We spoke of primes, and
later
you whispered my name,
it was nearly a prayer
at the alter of an evening
that was perfect.
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