One time, after many such moments,

A door again came up to meet me,

Pressed me by my forehead

Up to the headboard

I never thought about before,

Now I wonder if you’re thinking

About your headboard,

And about the door that approaches you,

Each day I assume, if only to eat,

Some of us don’t even meet the door

At all

Anymore, and everybody else ends up crying

But the headboard, like all things

You could have, and kinda secretly did love,

Although hardly esteemed or acknowledged,

Are the ones who this young man

Would say

He expects to suffer the most

When the door stops pushing my forehead to the headboard

And the first letter of my name

Stops pushing your forehead back into

A memory of me,

I will try not to stir any longer.