| Sweeping
past gifts I've been given,
 I think of what could have been. Nobody knows the tight spaced
wedge
 I gasp for precious, abandoned
air
 propelled by desire,
 Where I am alone and…
 secluded by dark, …the luminous dark. My special friend. Where I am superman,
 where I can hear a whisper whisper
 I ease back into stalagmites
of pain
 glowing like the heat of night... immersed, ...in luminous dark.  | 
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