She always waits
at the edge of evening,
poised in twilight
on the brink of night.
In shifting shadow
where echoes linger
like autumn grieving,
in despair.
Then uninvited,
intrusive moonbeams,
climb through the trees
to find her there.
Stealthily
the silver fingers
slither towards her
till they encounter
her loosed hair.
They stroke her face
with cold light snaking
phantom caresses
wrapping round her
unbeknown,
and unaware.
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Submission Name: cold comfort
