I want my own bed again
and I want to be alone
because that’s what
life is now
a series of good nights
to memories
private moments
which others
invade temporarily
in symbolic acts
of contrition and intimacy
merely signifying
soft betrayals
exhumed in the
burning of daylight
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Read Nora Webester by Colm Toibin. A sad wonderful book which your poem reminds.
Typo: Webster.