In a plume
of evening blue,three masks escaped,
last night, from you.
Divining other purposes,
they crept adeptly,
while you slept,
off your thin surfaces.
Entwining as they
billowed from your
pillowed head, they
hoped for a baroque
epiphany beyond
what they could
muster up on top
of you in bed.
Awake, you feel
more naked.
It’s harder
now to fake it.
.
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