When the house is dark
I take out a hidden match and drag it down
the leg of my chair.
The flame licks my nails.
In a moment of silence
I stare at the eerie billow
and watch it cast whiskers of light
in futile effort.
I sit, crossed legged
and sway to to the dance of the sparks.
The moon intrudes on our secret date, then.
The flame flickers, indignant.
I take a breath and he is gone.
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