A well-kept day secret creeps in the crevice of night
Warming, haunting, burning
Quenched and parched
Filled and thin
I lay awake
May this be as it should, as it ought?
For when one longs no longer
Does one cease in the order of things?
Is one dead? No, numb
Starved by addiction, filled by angst
I see in longing
My only hope filled by he who thirsts, who invites
Drink from a cup, eat from a table: dine
Long, but dine
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