I Don’t Know You

Wonders if your mind can be
simple or straightforward when
all I see are webs of silk
vestibules inviting
but not explaining
much
and dying to know who
weaved them or pieced them,
go tenderly into pews of darker things,
but no worship here, no gloss or frill.

Wonders if your body holds secrets of
tenderness when all I feel are
spikes and thorns of narcotics,
seeping blood from my porous wounds as
you tear me apart,
spiders and creepy things
driving me up a wall and cowering,
looking down at you but
never close,
just closed and windowless.

Wonders if you will read this
and know me
or feel sorry for me
or think of something nasty to say
because of it.

Wonders, but never knows.

I do not know you but,
I wonder.

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