january is cold
in a way december never was.
my fingertips are alight; i trace
the world and find
no beginning and no end.
sometimes you seem
so lonely and i only mean to
remind you, in a gentle voice,
there is no beginning and no end.
and it is a cold saturday morning,
i melt into my bed
and i become my mattress and my sheets
and you cannot be alone -
there is a whole universe within and without you.
where does the act of love
end and the light of being loved begin? it
is with sleepy eyes
and a tired, worn heart that
i assure myself it does not.
the sun/rises right in my
window right on my face
right in my heart.
as i wake, i blink the years
out of my eyes; decades and
eons of decay flutter out of my eyelashes.
i am beautiful either way. my image
in your eyes is confession -
no beginning and no end.
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