Quietude Gratitude

a poet in front of cybercafe’s computer

spreading legs, stretching muscles

desperately trying to regain his youth

his lost kisses, his absence of memories,

his twilight-colored eyes,

his drums inside his heart

wind passes in vain

can’t take away anything from him,

the poet in front of cybercafe’s computer

since he’s surendered his possessions

to the god of words, the lord of poetry

he used to seek between curly pubic hair

yet, now he–the poet in front

of cybercafe’s computer–is wondering

if the goddess of quietude shall embrace him

into her warming arms again, while her soft breasts

pillow his weary head, while her lips whisper

a couple of soft kisses

he, the poet in front of cybercafe’s computer

is wondering if night will forever young

till when suddenly he is awaken

by a phone ring

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