Nocturne

 
 
 
Red wine
white russians
the blues
A dark bar cafe
in the rain; in the snow;
in the freakin’ blizzard!
You w/o me; me w/o you
writing woe insane intimate journals
separately
“let you see mine, if you let me see yrs”
No, I don’t say that out loud.
I watch you
surreptitiously
between frantic scribbling.
I imagine the contours of
your life,
the one you fade into
when you’re not here.
Is there someone there
you share journals with?
Laugh with over secrets?
I drink hysterically.
Laugh uproariously,
so hears my inner ear.
Self-creating narration calls me
tragic, sweet, and true.
It wants to know your story,
be witness to the real you.
Please, let me read your recording.
Please want to read mine.
 
Yet, as it always goes,
we each return to night alone.
Safely solitary home, witness others
act on the tv screen;
and make magic love
in our separate dreams.
.
.
.
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