Identical

Same shirts, same boots.
Eyes gleam, yours, yours --
not mine.  I am
sick with hidden
rot behind paint,
primary hues.
You would not dare
reveal more truth
to the stranger
I became quite
overnight.  Fly
to Sweden or
even England --
would if I could.
Mutternacht lit
by fires that cleanse.
I insist, don't
invite me in.
Instead I choose
cold under stars,
implacable.