Myself
I am warm in the cold light in the dark alive to die,I am here alone covered in clothes and skin awaiting your return.I sit in church listening to a sermon about poetry,responding to words falling replying to no one there,I listen with intent anxiouss and desperate,yet nothing,nothing but the here and now nothing but you and I.I write not because I can but simply because it is needed,if only you were here with me I long for your presence, when you arrive I will be changed I will no longer be myself.
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