On second thought, I like the poem this way as well.
I occur after hours
Disturbed by half empty glasses of wine
And food left-over.
The disarray frames my hysteria
About arguments, favorite songs,
Confessions, and professions about love.
In the early morning I hide my face
In the neutral folds of the bed
As if comforted by some illusion -
Some afterthought of what if
It all means what it means.
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