You only lived in the discreet
meetings in the shadows
of bars and rented rooms,
and in the past you cast into poems,
but then, did any
of your beautiful young men
in your poems ever live
so full as you? Those
early wilting flowers
you plucked from the streets
and placed in the sustaining
past of your verses,
past where something of them lives
nameless or under alien names
in the papyrus covering
your own dead form.
14.-16.08.2025
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