Sitting up late into the dark,
a realisation
that this has all been dulled to me.
No more spotlights
and feeling sorry
and mulling over regrets.
It’s all at odds.
I’m moving out into the warm summer night.
The moon is grey and dampened
and I see a man
not a woman
when i look into it’s opaque gaze.
The air is sickly sweet
and wet
and I rejoice to run my hands through
my own hair, across my own face
wet with brackish, foolhardy tears.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
Wow I really liked this although I haven’t the slightest idea why if that makes any kind of sense, it just struck a chord.
bravo
rejoice in yourself in the the world
it is full of possibility
It’s kind of about lying to yourself.
Glad you like it Kim
and you too of course qazse.
I don’t think I’m quite doing it properly