clutter

i watch those shows
you mentioned. the ones
about writers and the
lovers of writers.
i sit naked. typing.
the day wears on me, humid

like you. you are

no lover of writers — poets, even less.
i sit naked, typing because
of you. undressing you
from me. i no longer write
to you. you are no lover
of writers nor poets. i am
unseen. i make do and make it
worthwhile. i am naked. you
are not. it is better this way.
you will pass naked, too
someday.

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