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This plain old room


This plain old room
   paint peels a little, neat
soon to be paradise
A crescent moon in the silent dark
Her black hair shimmers
   down her back
Her eyes blue as mine
No straight thing was ever made
A crooked pain in his chest
   charisma of the intellect
every choice a loss, a gain
Once you go feral you aren’t coming back
Smiles mask anger, laughter bitterness
   a weightlessness in paradise
pleasure and grace
Many lovers, little love
Somewhat intense
   makeup in the morning
she’d feel naked without it
Masks guard but they don’t protect

-February 8, 2010-