The VisitBenjamin Miller
Like falling kites, the night came in a rush Of feathers just outside her window, garnet eyes Outlined by swaying trees. Pewter-slow, Her throat contracted. Darkling wings unfurled. Beneath the pinning sheet she shivered, knew The door-latch was elusive, almost cruelly Insubstantial. Soon the curtained glass turned Delicate; the clock's hand, catlike, Stretched and flicked a paper tongue. Before morning came, a tapping.
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