I don’t have enough

words in myself to name

all the waves your way

gives me,

fumbling through dark

rooms of undeveloped

images repressed in

youth, unwilling to see

with honest eyes when

I move so right

in your blinding lights,

strobe and disrobe,

I don’t want to know

if it’s real or not,

don’t care much

if there’s no mutual

exchange of shotgun smoke

in rings

thickening

just like I am

imagining.

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