Fine Lines

The pheromones will get you
and the boarded floor doth tick
when the candle wax just hisses
all that remains is leaning wick.
Incisive when the time’s right
and eager just to please
there’s a hurricane at the door now
and it’s pushed me to my knees.
Baritone walls and windows
gripped tighter by atmosphere
as the light glows a silver-white
neath a veil of fluttering sheer.

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