I’m weeping,
not sure why...
Maybe it’s you
(But I doubt it)
I woke up next to your smile and your beautiful thighs,
But I don’t know how.
Woke up on the floor this morning, yawning
still drunk and surprisingly sore, and we danced in reflections from our youth,
the forgotten truth,
when we drank gin without vermouth.
I talk about New Orleans in the summer.
You talk about your nosy mother.
I scream about bloody mirrors and addiction,
you laugh and ask about breakfast.

09/19/2005

Posted on 09/19/2005
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