They’re flirting
in their own special way.
Exiting
from the library
the only place
that keeps them safe.
Joining
uncertainty
across the cobblestones
fountain, as yet
to be offering its life.
She, pleading her case
for the fiction she
writes, of a vampire
falling in love
with a werewolf.
(What else?)
He, prodding
her, with his mock
disgust
bickering just enough
for the conversation
to continue.
Good, grief
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