a sullen face glimpsed through my window
sunken hazel eyes, or maybe a stark blue
well I can't really tell
the shadows cast down from the brow
and sharp cheekbones
trampled glowing red
maybe from the outside shears
or the clipped ears
and rough, auburn hair
nearly black from the pooling night
a green jacket, lifted collar
and a zipper which catches glints of pearly moon
I unlock my window
and raise the pane high
so that the air smelling of lavender
like the wound of gentle laughter
wafts into my room of quiet corners
I beckon in, waving at
the lonesome figure
he simply looks and blinks once
I ask for his name
he says he is an author
of what, I ask
of all the terrible things, he says
and I shiver, knowing
that beautiful things come
after such unsettling
encounters