Nostalgia, welcome to my home,
You’ve made quite a permanent impression,
On both my energy and life lessons,
But you’ve also been gone a little too long.
With you here, the dead silence has gone,
The filthy gift of two seconds ago has regressed into repression,
And I do, no longer, see this reflection,
That seems to be made of two tones.
As I lie, in bed, in morning, in mind,
The woman in the next room may be my future,
But my past, currently, is so pleasant I don’t think I could refuse its sick humor,
I might accidently call her mine,
The black spaces in night to which the eyes are comprised,
Overwhelm a failing eyesight in short time.
I think I have to get up…
Open my door,
Take three steps,
Open her door,
And join her, in her sleep,
No not like a creep,
Because, unfortunately I have boundaries to keep,
But like a man,
Who knows what he wants and no longer can stand,
Alone/the false euphoria the prickly poisonous past demands,
I hold her head in my hands,
This is now.