Grave steps made of midnight steel, harsh and cold on the heels. Gathers of dust migrating obediently to each side make centerway for dark hour sojourn. She clambers up the short staircase, ripe for the day's retirement, sliding out of a scarcely soiled frock, then shuffling in slow motion beneath the duvet till she feels at home. As if by appointment the moonlight rolls in, heavily, softly. A luminous silkened blanket unraveling gracefully upon the comfort of her tiresome bed, hatching shadowed friends performing pirouettes that glisten with each ensuing twirl. The city's sky hides its stars selfishly, so she shuts her eyes with a dreamish lust & sees far more than the city could keep.
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