dark room

shadow here is a manifestation, not of light
and object, but of you, the demon you,
the one who comes with many hands,
stale stench of Sportsman in your mouth and hands,
a book whose cover changes every midnight.
shadow here is reproach,
a levee, not between here and there, or you and i,
but the texture of the many hands
of our common demon god. shadow here
refracts and bends, so that the long comma of apathy
becomes a kind of infinite pause,
your hand always waiting for mine.
you are an architecture built only of shadow, depth,
conspiracies of love, or what you call kindness.
shadow here
demarcates nothing,
this false demon love of our shared nothing.


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