almost gone...
whispery voices to keep me company
as i convince myself
not to close my eyes...
i'm fighting,
in my corner,
with its little window and blinds...
the draft,
the lamplight,
and my reflection...
feeling sorry for her
because she's on the glass,
transparent,
cold.
i can feel her blowing on me,
blowing on my shoulder...
"go to sleep..."
she doesn't take or want my pity.
she wants to hide me.
she wants to hide.
in the darkness, she more than disappears;
she ceases to be.
but she likes it there.
unlike me, she can reappear from disappearance.
once i am gone, i'm gone.
the body, such a fragile thing...
inward pressures out, and outward pressures in.
so weak though "the spirit is willing..."
almost gone...
just barely here,
transfixed by dark reds and purples,
and poetry,
mine and yours.
"will you take me in your hand,
turn me over and over,
and read me
like the eyes that proofed my lines
once practiced?"
"will you have me then?"
you will have me then.
never gone...
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