Summer Melt



The window stays open late: suddenly the room beats with moth wings. 
Pale moon creatures, from the backdrop of summer night, fashioned from the same velvet.
A cool and soothing brush with darkness; a sleeping draught, a diving bell; respite from the fraught of heat; they bring good dreams, the mesmer of these beating wings.
Indoors, outdoors, this world, or that; everything blurs in the summer melt.


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