(So that I would have an excuse to be sleepless-
eyes peeled open like assuming fruits.)

Nights without you consist of etching
words on the walls with my fingertips.
Life-sized strokes of charcoal night are followed
by warm water and soap in the morning light.

The firey window admits to my body
sore muscles, clean sheets, and dull walls
filled with sketches of cruel men and
streaked by my mocking attempts to erase them.

02/15/2005

Posted on 05/06/2005
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