Thursday, September 24, 2009


while waiting for your to arrive i chat with
strangers with good grammar and use
of words beyond their years. i imagine
your breath will taste of wine and cheap
cigarettes. if you make it here. if you do,
i hope you stay.
you left me with some wrinkled papers and i'm
fingering them thinking of the ways that you could
twist my arm. indian burn. indian giver.
there is nothing here that you would want.
i'm still wearing your shorts and when i
give them back they will smell of me.
can you put your legs behind your head?
will you put my legs behind your head?
you drove four hours to stumble into my bedroom.
& if you can ignore the rats in my hair
we can fuck again.

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