Motion

Every Sunday
the Knight walks

the Princess

to the train

Her gait soft

like a
penumbra

His legs light

like fire.

Every
Sunday, the Knight

walks the

Princess

to the station, she
always makes him

wait.

He waits gladly.

She waves a wand
her eyelash;

he sings into her ear.

She rewards him.

Within a minute
the Princess

vani s h e  s .    .      .

intermittent joy

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