The water out of my eyes
it causes my nostrils to sting
with a fervor unlike any other,
I don’t even know why I’m crying
like picking up a grain of sand
with your palms or heels.
I was there in that room,
where you were sleeping, not listening,
the floor was cold as I mutely,
seized and ached for you,
and you never knocked or asked;
so the glass remained gray instead of black.
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