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A wardrobe in a hotel bedroom, Warren Paul Glover.
Like a sentinel I stand guard over your clothes
Those masks of fashion -- or not -- that you wear
To disguise your weaknesses and doubts
My loyal lodgers, the coat hangers, rattle like the skeletons
Of the secrets you suppress
Raising the alarm that means you'll never outrun them
When you leave my room, you cast me aside
Like one of your discarded garments, or lovers
And I become again a cavern of loneliness
Until the next guest arrives, and approaches me with desirous intent
And I love them, for I am promiscuous!
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