Thursday, December 11, 2008

Good Night


Your touch...

Like a story unknown

Like the atheism forlorn


My being...

Embarrassed in a night’s cry

Like a shred of cloth you denied


My questions...

Lagging behind your exclamations!


My pauses..

Dreading your unkempt declarations.


I am collecting my senses from my obsession...


I will have to clean my wardrobe from longed conception...


So do we stop now?

Or start a new sentence?


And as I write, the breaks remind me

Of the dreaded future tense.


Tonight is the night that I change my hide,

My ring, my wet and my little eyes.


Tonight is the night when I change my name,

I have played enough, now I leave you untamed.