A Matter Of

Standard

*

.
it’s a matter of

finally finding myself

alone

in the night hanging from a

window sill gazing at a padded sky

.

finding beauty in the dark grayness

of thinking i shall call you

once more

of finding his hair everywhere

in the sink in my bed in my socks

.

.

of a picture of the hands of the other one

a poem engraved deeply down

.

of the air moved away by his presence

while he danced around  me

.

.

of feeling the hands of that one encircling me

as he laid me bare and attacked me

of being centered again

of being the center of your attention

of being entered by so many emotions

.

of having forgotten the pain one left me with

of having forgotten him

of having only scars and no more wounds

.

of being silent still and thrilled

.

of hearing no more sounds

in the night just that perfect quietness

of realizing none of you matters

.

and all of you do

.

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