How Many Times?

Let me go on sliding, sinking, believing
how the image of your face
keeps coming back to me, again and again,
and why? Like how every day,
and without fail, the sun rises
and the morning light, a violet haze
wakes me into the quiet calm beginning
of each and every new day,
and even though I’ve tried to push
the light back, back into the night,
to hold it at bay, it rushes in still,
where it pours in at the window, my eyes,
till floods the room where I’ve drowned,
and how many times? In all these thoughts I’ve had of you.

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