Doorknob

The lights are switched off and the door is closed
since
a while.
I’m afraid to switch them on and
to try
to open
it again.

I confess.
There are some "no" much more painful than others.

I whipped then.
I tied up.
I fucked.
There was no taste.
There was no joy
no messages.

Like I was slapping myself.

And the heart I carry is running when it remembers.
The touch
the smells
breathings
the eyes
the lips.
The tip of the fingers on the cheek
like the sweet contact of a page being slowly turned in a book that one devours in peace.
Out of the world, or completly into

Making us living.

This darkness has lighted up my stupidity
my fear.

I'm holding the whip.
But I beg
you to put your hand on the doorknob.