Eleventh Hour Ebullience [poetry]

Late in the valley at a house with a ribbon on the door handle
She lies upstairs at the hall’s very end
Beating her pillow and lowing “you”

But it does not matter
He is more than her imagination
And she imagines the angels keep on him
Ride hard, cowgirl
Lead him with a dark all-over open-eye feature
Seen only in the moonlight of the mirror crying at the night

Eyes wide open
She knows well this feeling
Almost like dread
Anticipating the eleventh hour almost here

Sensations strengthen
Seconds crash like waves over her
Sweet surrender rocks her soul
Charging from its depth
Galloping over rivers unleashed

This tempestuous night sights him in her gaze
Trumpets sound
Around the bed
Unleashing her cries in the valley beyond the Sea

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