Night Poem IX

She could cure me with those black eyes.
Or she could be tonight’s infinite hair,
let down for me to drift in,
exhausted by a sexual shore.
She destroys the dawn at its edges,
she corners the world in a room.
With a smile, she torments it
until the confessions flow like blue honey.
In a room the size of a pin
I hold her gaze,
to delay catastrophes.
I discover expanses of desolation and love.

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