In the forbidden aspect of care... I will meet you there...

When night is no more... dark is used-up... stars have all died away... I will meet you there... with sunscreen and dark sunglasses... would you care to burn with me under artificial night?

When every word has been said... gingerly, affectionately... dry... I will meet you there... with my voice screaming silently that sound that makes your name... would you care to listen hard to my artificial lack of noise?

When every sight has been caressed by eyes... by glances... by interest or disregard... I will meet you there... vividly... filled in with sharp contrast and sharper edges... would you care enough to see and be seen in artificial eye-gaze, sight-seen, made unseen seen and unseen twisted?

Shall I bring with me my ripped-out tongue, my gauged eyes and my lost dementia?
I would gladly unbelieve my defect for your trust...

/