0300
Belinda Subraman, July 2009
This room I splashed
with one third of my heart
keeps estranged dolls
under tables
and a mosaic bust
sexier than mine
guards the bed
where I hope to sleep.
The lace gown curtain
over a non-screened
gaping hole to the world
invites the flies of night
to my tiny light.
They are drunk on heat,
banging the lampshade.
Their abandon inspires me.
I open my drawer of secrets.
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