Beautiful Dark

He sits across from her
in a red dimly lit room,
watching her mouth breathe
words he has heard but
cannot define.

In the shadow
he can only make out
the outline of her pillow
lips, moving slow as if
so cold movement is difficult.

He swirls wine in his glass
and smells the aroma from beneath
the table. She has finished
speaking. He has heard her
from the space between,
where they used to be;
unevenly sips from his glass and
forgets the way she speaks.


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