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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
A sex once grey,
residue of a previous owner,
an entirely other gender to discover.