The plink of raindrops drip upon the roof,
corrugated tin shines in washed moonlight,
as if the falling darkness needed proof
of seasons measured turning dark to bright
while Mozart's Divertimento sings soft,
hums through evening new as lullabies
to dark shapes of books and your face aloft
murmurs mouth whispers to lips, lashes, eyes
closed caught or lost in drifts of rain or skin,
tender pressed in prelude to building thrash
as limbs collide like worlds heated within
the spark of lightning and the thunder’s crash.
Then storm’s allayed in black blanketed deep.
The music plays and voices fade to sleep.
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