Languid

The looming chateau
grew in the darkness as much
as his long sadness.

Chilled whispers marked the
end of the daylight hours;
The night was eager.

Stomp of the foot, and
the scratch of the bags, made the
empty manor loud.

His sigh of aching,
mixed with feelings of hardship,
followed his soul up

the winding spiral.
His beating skull he set down
in comfort. Eyeballs

blind to the already
dark room. Dreams slip in as life
flees the mind. But thoughts

bring the worse out to
the light. Hands grope his feet, the
tips contouring his ankle.

Cold palms rubbing his hair,
reaching for the mouth. Fingers
moving up the thigh.

Arms caressing his
relaxed abdomen – he won’t
flinch awake. The cool

limbs took his being.
Without a sound, they pulled his
presence; plucked it away,

leaving him numb.

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