星期一, 8月 15, 2005

In a room without stars

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.
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In a room without stars, without
the time telling us when to go ...
this had become my home.
I had no right to stay, never
knowing when to say farewell
to the close of our agreement.
Perhaps it had been clearer to you.
.
.
I could only hear the moaning of rain
outside the hallway, where the sun thrusts its rays.
Not here, not where I thought
the void had been filled with hope.
Your scent rubbing off on me
like the pretense of breathing
enthralled with the death of my egregiousness.
.
.
I remember myself grazing the plains,
slender like your abdomen, the hint
of shrubbery where seeds were sown in daylight.
Don't you miss this thing of beauty
this heart beating ostensibly?
I could not find any other dedication
as mild as the untamed beast, yet milder
than its incorrigible tamer.
I had your arms to shelter me
the foundations of the house, or were they my own
holding on the gutters of the roof?
I had only me to shelter from myself.

.
.
The first and the last thoughts, the compromises,
took only two days to forget.
Would it be the dark sky
or merely the intimacy of stars
that I miss so badly?
I'd continue to walk the road alone,
still trapped in your room, or me,
trapped inside my own disillusionment?
.
.
I had no right to stay and all the reasons to leave
here I am feeling shame for my lack of guilt.
And now that I'm in my own room
I realize it hasn't been the stars that guide me.
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