You hold me in the doorway
as we feel winds
gust-sweep the yard.
Blue grapes
along the garden wall
are spared. Purposely
I think --- for later
to make holiday wine or jam.
But the moon
is the reason
we withstand the night air.
Her porcelain face
peers through louvered clouds
as if she opened
her villa shutters
and now looks down
envying the lovers,
the lit warmth
of a human match.
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