on a cold day
forgetting
his jacket on the arm
of this worn leather
sofa, the water still
running, waiting,
anticipating
his nakedness,
he never mentioned
anything
about the time
or the weather
and his regrets
were nothing
compared to mine.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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