Each blush of its throat
is an open vein of darkness.
An invisible silkiness
not yet aware of its own death.
In the red-against-green blur
there is illuminated the perfect likeness
a limning of hummingbird.
Blond hands describe the singular
flight into this heart
the moon lends
its hapless pulse
to the already thickening shadows.
Even now the night-air
and the red earth glisten.
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