Take that night.
I was transparent. Glistening.
Alive amidst the light and beauty.
Everything I was that night was a gift.
Knowing the source, I was erotic.
My heart beat on my sleeve.
My sleeve was desire.
I was a present.
Thanks, I offer.
Now, I say. Here, I am.
Make more effort. Radiate.
Do not fear such glorious annihilation.
The bit, the bite. Self-judgment.
A faker. Lying to stay.
In the system. Gone. A shade.
Lie there, survive.
Yes, I am in need.
The propitious attitude to survive.
Here’s the thing.
Faking it is also selbsdarstellung.
Authentic on those anxious days.
Exactly the matter. At hand.
What is. The surface of the depth.
I know delight, have touched the holi heart.
I know an art when I see it.
I will speak out when it is elsewhere.
I am a fool, not fooled.
The day yearns to return to the night.
The distance is like twilight.
It belongs to both of us.
I do also take perverse pleasure.
It is joyful to misuse you.
You are here, not there.
You do also take such pleasure.
From that vacant violation.
We are like.