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squeezed to the margins
and numbered as pages
was ink ever noticed
how quickly to dry –
my lone indiscretion
turned verse into madness –
eternity waiting
another swept by –

to brighten my window
with pink recollection
warmed by a welcome so true
arms opened wide
eyes closed and trusting

take me
forsake me
do what you do –
become my confession
but leave me (still wanting)
with a will to recall and reasons to write
before this to slumber
I take of my leave –
and bury my fears
in illusion of light

rhyme against rhyme
breath to a poet –
pour to my longing the fate of my ways
as every sunrise
is returned to the darkness
and I but a place
(you will stay)

infuse me
refuse me
tell me another
of the past that lies down
in lust for the morn
pages to shiver
pull closer the curtains
would lean toward the margins
setting fire to the page