Late at 4,

[white camellia]

Late at 4,
cat's whining from cluster,
I wonder
am I the only one to hear?
In dreams?
No, not in mine,
fair pain flaunting its temerity to me,
The moan a truthful woe or
a macabre wile?
Breathing from behind the light,
I watch my substance
a double sight.
Turn off the light,
hide in darkness,
and I sweat all the time-
the hand that dropped on the face
libidinously squirms
Toward the place
of my heart, or
somebody else's, or
the cat's.

[brandon w]

I am generally acinic when it comes to poetry. (you have to be really) But this is actually good. I actually had to re-read it afew times. This is a good thing. Poetry nevery kisses on the first date.
(I appologize for the insiped respons)

[white camellia]

Thank you, brandon w! ;)
This is not insipid in the least, but real, and it says alot...
Adhering to feeling, following consciousness, I came up with those lines with avididty...I just wanted to remember that thrilling moment this way.

[blp]

It's really good. (How's that for insipid?)