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[THE DARKNESS]
The darkness somehow
holds itself from me,
boundaries moving,
almost pulsing.
I lie waiting w/ a coolness
over the skin of my legs.
The window open
I no longer see the solitary
light from the runway
rotating white, the green.
I am waiting, for whom?
There is no resolve, only
eventual sleep coming from
the darkness that moves
in to press my now warm
skin. The boundaries now
still, shut down tight and
open to the visions that come
when the pulsing is slow
as a soft knowing grin
from a friend.