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ANSWER By Khatchig Mouradian You talk to me of passion, Of lines dripping with desire, Yet nothing is left but ashes... I've rented to resignation The vacant apartment of Fire. With the candlelight of craze I never found tempests tender, But still loitered with limping days In the subway of dusty calendars. Do not ask me of Lust, Of ink gushing like semen, My words are still-born children Who've had no chance of dreaming. Look elsewhere for lava, And papers dipped in craving, Mine are sketches of withdrawal On the canvas of lost heaven. -- Khatchig Mouradian has a B.S. in Biology and currently is a graduate student in Clinical Psychology. He has been writing poetry from an early age and around two dozens of his poems (in Armenian) have been published in a Armenian newspapers and magazines (Aztag, Zartonk, and Ardziv). He is also a journalist with his columns and articles appearing regularly in "Aztag" daily and "Marzig" monthly.