December

by Marcus Tan

Strobe lights they teach
me to listen and keep
myself in line, to distance and
to yearn for all that stands in sight.

To hold close the dear and
fleeting, to darken the fear
and blinding guide of

day. I remember the taste
of your leaving – blank,
cold as the blackest dark.
The eyes that flicker with

the lust of a parasite. Something
you assume to keep, to
comfort and cradle, to
consume.

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