a dark bird sits in the corner of our love
black wings dripping,
eyes alert
wakeful and watching,
cloaked in the inky shadows.
the birds gather silently,
two, three, four, seven soul-less nightjars
come to collect,
as I sit their powerlessly
only my sleeping lover between them and me
they crowd, they flock
growing restless, and then -
fading with the first greys of day,
that lighten on my walls like a coat of drying paint
over the eyeless shadows
retreating as silently as they came.
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