The Tryst
An exquisite touch of misery
cripples her sensibilities
two doors down
bolted.
For written upon his brow
she saw unholy disregard
for but a moment?
Seeping beneath her door
malevolent advancing collector
glides bloody .......
~
She didn’t understand the absence
of his soul
watching her in the insistence
of utterly waxen wounds.
Without sitting behind her eyes
how could he ever know
midnight’s promise and not
ask.
And so he awaits with dagger
poised as
she trembles with anticipation
of his knock
on her door
bolted
at the stroke of midnight ...
[happy new year!]
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2007
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