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Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this
writing free of charge (including translation into any
language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom,
and that it remain intact and complete, including title and 
credit to the original author.

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

(A True Tale From The Castro. Eat your heart out, Armistead!)

© 1997 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin

i rest my head upon the door of 689
a chill breeze whistles inside your old apartment
and i weep
for our ghosts in tender embrace
beneath the pentagram

for a short span of weeks
kind words and dear caresses
sweeter than i have ever known in my life
i am afraid
will never know again

i cannot believe it's over
i do not believe it's over

dearly beloved

your ghost slips by my door
and smiles
passes me on the carpeted stairs
but vanishes
though i stand there for
another shower of kisses and tender hugs

i hate this building in which i live
now that you are gone
i weep all the time
i cannot stand to enter it

i cry over a blueberry waffle
and jittery
spill some milk as i raise the cup
to my lips
wishing to touch your stubbled cheek again
wishing to share a simple pleasure
in the simple way
of simple love