(for Dónall) One Of Those Nights (2) - Poem by Janice Windle
It was one of those nights
when the moon was a bright token,
a silver coin that we would spin
and on its fall, win - always win -
the love that in the day we'd spoken of,
the long moonbeams silvering
your shoulder as you turned to me,
our faces separate only in name
and then not that... our fingers
searching skin and finding
satin, rippling muscle, softness
of hair and lips, effortless flow,
limbs suddenly fitting spaces...
like a long-awaited guest
making conversation wordless,
one of those nights.
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