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At that moment, having
said goodnight, turning down her

lamplit hallway, I heard
feather-steps behind me, swish

of skirt, no slip. A single moth
fluttered about the mahogany landing

settling on a gilt edge. As she
spoke, her upper lip moistened

and my eyes fixed onto the wallpaper
pattern of robed goddesses plucking zithers.

I realize now she wanted to be kissed.
She wanted me to kiss her.

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