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version 2.2
...self indulgence...
...livejournal...
...friends...
...randomalia...
...rpg excursions...
...leave me alone...
...back where you started...
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...Melancholia...
You have faded; you have gone. The clothes no longer
smell of your kisses, the furniture of your cigarettes.
The ghosts of your fingers no longer float above the worn
and chipped piano keys. They have disappeared with the notes
of jazz songs, of nocturnes. The poems that you wrote,
the last scrawled phone numbers and meeting places
have been thrown out with your torn and crumpled image.
A whisper in half silence; this is good. This is good.
A recitation of arguments. This assurance
wrapping around like your arms did...no. No, the sheets
are smooth and empty, taut white on one side now.
This is good because...and because...and because.
And because you have faded, because you have gone
the coffee is spilled a little more often now.
The dog is barking louder and the volume rises--
that swing piece you always hated, the slow song,
each lukewarm riff dragged out like a long distance goodbye,
like a last kiss that clung a moment too long.
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