still was the eventide.
the pallid night-eye
hovers above the moonflower
and its scent---
sickly sweet.

at the street's end
lies her
decrepit house.
it had been months
since i saw her

sillouhette.
it rests there.
still.
abandoned.
but

not forgotten.
and in this hour,
where the ungodly
is just---
i am a stalker

craving for lust.
i've stared
at that window
for years
that my eyes

are starting
to bleed.
before i
close my eyes
and end the world

i saw a feint flicker
a form.
a new sillhouette.
and it thawed
this freezing soul.

and as i stared at her,
she stared back at me.