Every friday at the cabaret district

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My Thin Sheets

One friday, at the cabaret district
Where woeful souls idle, to sink
In the red light’s booze entertainment; when the night falls, severed
Pieces look for places of attachment
Here at the cabaret, I met you.

Every friday, I wash up the shore
Naked, baffled
Entangled by sea sand
I stand; I seek a will to convey what mere flesh entwined, cannot
A bewitching stranger, collapsing into embrace
Here at the cabaret, I met you

Your lips reckon me out of realism, gently lay atop my natural breast
I surrender.
You, as frail and white as the first snow.
I surrender.

In a forlorn globe of chaos, discernment, nudity, unheeded cognizance and lust
Breaking barriers, You mimick the sun’s vital force
For you without, bulbs are a failing victim to hollow darkness.

The memory of you, lord; bitter red, coffee, orchids at the vineyard
The hue of your blackhole eyes…

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