You ask for the dream
like a child
set on ice cream
at a Saturday circus

You yearn for old
calendars, broken clocks
& promise to keep
your corner clear of webs

You want to retell
your famous life-story
to poets & editors
recorders of time

But most of all
you ache inside
for the touch of
someone else

nestled close beside you
breath warm along your hair
whispering dark wishes
in the still nights
of your room

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