She opened the message then,
wary of worms worked in code
below the seeming, sent again
into her box, her own abode.
At least he was predictable –
against sense and reason. Never,
yet now, had he seemed able
to lay his points so bare – clever.
Attachments at the bottom put
Dread in her heart. They portended
nightshades, like the clod of his foot
on the stair, where covers ended
and air allowed night inside
her eyes, hiding all means to hide.
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