In the Black List
― Ilkin Santak
In an empty room,
Surrounded by shadows
And ghosts of you.
I’m not dramatic,
But intense—
Everything focused
And heightened by tens.
I keep apart—
A hermit on a desert,
But everything goes through
My heart and emerges
With your lipstick
<<>>
Isolation
Makes me sensitive.
I write best at night
while the animals sleep,
the house creaks
and the windows are black
I’m Ulysses
Every time I venture
Beyond my circle of light
And yes, I admit it’s true
I'm no saint—
But I still come to find you.
