when the sun comes
you enter alone
place both feet to the tile
beside the edge
of the unmade bed
where it’s still cold from
the unseen soil
beneath you
i gift you a history
a notebook of memories
you could never
have built on your own
later you are as certain as
when
you first
came
here
(so not much
but still)
as alone
and as cold
Filed under: NPM, poems Tagged: alone, history, intimacy, lonely, loser, NPM, poem, poetry, sad, winter
