The winter evening settles in
To me like a cloudy darkness
That haze of waiting after abandonment

For something more than masquerades
You used to toss the blanket
From the bed for my back

Now I am a cold burning of a thousand
Sordid images, of the flickering
On the ceiling, while you have other lovers

I must clasp my bed’s edge
With a cold knife from the gutters
Of my trampled impatience & innocence

I belong to something that comes after now
The notion of a infinitely gentle suffering
The countless capacity to endure ups and downs

While the world revolves like an old woman
I gather fuel in my vacant loss
I breathe through the floors of memory


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