Number 3 in a list of 14

I passed by the house where once two men
reduced me on their couch
and I walked away less a woman
a layer of me pressed into the cushions
a lingering shadow they disregard
as they stumble through philosophy books
searcing for the one elusive truth

I saw a face in the dark of one window
staring across at a white glowing light
he pushed himself to the burgalar bars and waved
he still had those quilts pinned up
blocking out all the sunlight
quilts from the northeast, where things stay cold

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