out of the window
heat merged in white
and there’s nothing I want
the world to supply
or take from me now
I’ve opened my eyes
she locks the door
and knows the way she’s moving
and we both know this is all
that’s keeping us from leaving
as we go down to the floor
(now I see, as it gets dark
and she’s away, I’m in the room,
there’s nothing here of what was then
except these facts I’ve placed in lines
and keeping hold of what we’ve had; and her return
and only that)
there’s nothing that I care for
but resumption of these feelings
and will throw the things I promised
far from any stretch of reason
and let them be discovered
by whoever wants to see them
burning
and broke open
as I listen to her breathing
A late teenage poem from a long time ago now.
