and I met him in the attic,
drapes were stirring in
a breezeless whisper;
my soul shuddered.
and twice this happened,
damn… I still go up there
and I kneel down,
melting in his spirit.
and the attic, the attic,
drunk, a place to go
and strip naked of
regrets.
and I’ll know for sure,
desperately waiting,
asking him to take
me, a third time.




















45 old applause
