North of Winter

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If only I would become the night,

a child of darkness.

My future is in the unconscious. 

Arms, searching North of winter, 

the sun folding slowly, tracing

an irremediable heat,

no longer me. 

Eyes, naked of light but for

a slight slit, caress

of a gracefully skin.

Droplets of sweat running across my window, 

hypnotized by Vancouver’s torrential rainstorms, 

the days looping into one monochromatic frame, 

never begging to differ.

If only I would become the night, a child of darkness.

Embracing the wetness 

of naked woods. A forgetting

of how to remember you, 

terrified by my memories

down south.

A sex once grey, 

residue of a previous owner,


an entirely other gender to discover. 

Published at Apricity Press, Issue 7.