This nameless being inside has been starved all day,
But now it feasts
On the absence of nauseating stimulation,
And for dessert, no social obligations,
Paired with many glasses of no clothes.
The rhythm of my heart in sync with the tick of the wall clock,
Greatest disturbance is none other than fingers on black keys,
Cross-legged and nude to admire books papers mags on the floor,
Windows shut, shades pulled, doors locked, all borders secured.
This world is mine alone,
Buoyed by a richness not to be shared,
Delay the coming morning on which I must leave it,
to enter and tolerate the other.
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