By LFS    Scorzi @yahoo.com
Date: 1 January 2001

Ignorant Hopefulness

Sometimes I wish that smell on you
                smell is sent to me outside the middle of the night.
Unexpectedly cruelty is mixed feelings and burning tears behind my eyes
                       (in front of my friends)
There's no proof but a hollow place that doesn't hurt
                        (it's only going deeper)
                Why can't you tell the truth outside my bed?
Show me in front of the sun and the outdoors
                                    where I can breathe.
The sun now only comes up in the quiet of night,
        soft skin spilling onto my pillow from behind my eyelids.
   Rough lips scratch my surface and my mental fatigue towards everything.
My lips are small,
             a metaphorical feature that is shrinking with hopeful silence.
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