Amorphous togetherness

He doesn’t stay very long,

but is always sumptuous,

with constrained melodies,

and tortious impiety,

midnight being his cue,

and also the distance between us,

the fervour of his leather jackets,

pressing upon my impressionable mind,

directing it towards a tragic question,

the question of his presence,

without melodies or leather jackets,

for the trivial bit after midnight,

in the dark, on my bed,

tracing his palm lines,

through the age of wildness,

and amorphous togetherness.

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