by Nathan Ventura
Hawk like sprites
full of a million whispers
come like sunbeams
through my window.
Taking off my clothes
they carry me to the bathroom
and lay me in the tub.
My eyes clouded and tired
with their glow
give in and shut.
Crawling over me
they feel my belly
not like doctors,
but more like lovers.
Inserting silver instruments
they remove that loneliness
that lives in crowded rooms
and drips off of orgies.
They heal those cuts in my mouth
never satisfied by my tongue;
they wash my tiny wounds away,
lay me in my bed,
and they wrap me in silk.
They kiss me goodnight
and leave,
having rid me
of my guilt.
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