I regret returning to the room, coming in back
Among four walls to a fan that rustles
Round a mechanism making heat, and the yellow light
Their corners stain, the suit-case sitting like a lump
Below the bed, soft mat on a hardwood floor.
Soon sleep will come to lie with me,
I can already feel her fingers over my
Heart; while our gloomy eyes droop,
We depart like birds from a field.
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