. . . before I fall asleep
I yearn to explore my inner darkness
with lust and feel your breath close
to my skin
your fingers warmth
A shiver
I mourn the absence of your touch
I long to be touched by a whisper
from your lips!
What a vicious circle . . .
I need not!
I yearn not!
I long not!
I mourn not . . .
Nothing nothing nothing
A point of reference has
my emptiness become A
upside down question mark
Because there are no questions
anymore Only answers . . .
¿
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