Fever

It dissolved, the unconditional moth wing near the candle. You closed your eyes. Resisted the relief that sleep might bring. Spoke of imaginary mistakes apart from reason.  All that held were facts of furniture and sotto light. Vast loneliness I had pretended away. You were someone else who did not know me. I blame myself also for failing to hold on. Chose between two impossible paths along the road.  

No such thing as morning, undue haste, a butterfly in relief

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