November 4th.

Cool to the touch
Your skin burns like flame

Hide yourself from the world

when you want nothing more than to be alone.

Empty yourself of woes

Secrete all of your secrets

your hidden dreams

your words of wisdom

your songs of sorrow

your pain and your worry and your most glorious revelations;

Full of lies

Mostly pale,

Transluscent to the untrained eyes,

And mostly lullabies

of an illustrious past

and a deluded present

of muddled murmurs and bad dreams

of starry nights and egg yolk mornings

of liquescent limbs tangled in linen sheets,

and of what comes after:

a little something sweet.