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Jeffrey Woodward

With a Sash Untied

... longing without hope of satisfaction, chilly nights of fitful slumbers and occasionally a dream to draw her back abruptly to that sober, waking state and to tears, tangled hair on an embroidered pillow, an icy silver light that glitters on her bangles, the delicate jangling of the bracelets that serves not as an alluring come hither to a secret delight, but as dissonance to accent the cold fact of the other's absence:

only the whisper
of a silk robe ...
a waxen moon