The room was dark. A soft hue of orange emanating from her night light illuminated the curve of her cheeks as she smiled in the still past-midnight silence…

a smirk — smitten, as I enter the room | your disillusioned defiance | my rhetorical reliance | a helpless hand that reaches high into our ethereal tomb

I watch you as you read | I wait on bated breath | as tender, strong hands hold | the weight of stronger minds.

the nights of our Novembers | they turned so naturally together; so naturally, apart | "don't forget to close our garden's gate" | you whispered from the start.