a silent, covert script
of the night
the curves and curls,
the rivulets drawn
the branches of dream
the notes of night-song
pillow stands misplaced
it welled up seeing nightfall
the act drenched it;
slithered in dark hours
the blanket, a bit frozen
at the memoirs of one-night upshot
as the cock crows
aurora hastes
through the skylight
it has to decipher
dark handwritten lies
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