the way I held on
to five seconds of
an arm embracing me
near a cold window,
one stare;
red and in heat
all winter.

this demand grew
windingup my body
as I began to move furniture
in rave.
placed framed sentences
on every ledge.
trinkets  on sills 
to gaze at them
blinds open
under moon.  their
effect on me terrifying
when glinting or silhouetted,
or under influence.
at dusk, I was under
influence and large.

every night.
the den was lit with 7 to
9 candles.
room sharp and casting
shadows everywhere.
me, walking through
them, chanting.
repeating phrases.
burning pages
from a journal.

no recollection of what I
said or wrote
or asked for.

“the candles”

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