Storytime
The bed is still in disarray.
A faint erotic scent exudes
From the crumpled pillow.
Was it only yesterday
This page unfolded?
Empty now this gold and decorated room
Except for paper roses.
A bobolink
On a spiral spring, gay.
The mirror stares back at me
Unrecognizing the pale cold shadow
Who haunts it seeking
An old reflection.
The blush is gone; no joke
This walking in and out of chapters.
Tell me another story, friend,
Or give this one a happy ending.
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