you come into the room







you come into the room,

and i must pretend i am not part

of you —

see you here,

and all the chairs, tables,

rickety legs are you,

i cannot touch the world.

cannot place my hand

upon your chest,

your cheek,

rub across your brow;

place the crown of laurel.


light is yours,

perhaps that’s why

these shadows over

light must be my

own quick dread —

fear you’ll leave


i see enough of you,

to see at all.




  1. 23.03

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