Home Is Where You Hang Yourself

I’d pet your dirty-blonde silky hair with my dry winter fingers as you cocked your head back from the floor into my lap on the couch

Streaks of oil, your hair was somewhat greasy from the showers we’d avoid

After we’d fuck like we were born to, I would take evolution into my throat and softly scream “I love you!”

As if you were truly the reason i enjoyed coffee in the morning

I hate morning

Your scent of lavender and morning breath somehow blending to create the most cherished scent I could ever tongue down

Replaying our sex at work, as I robotically helped the rest of the hungry world feed on their soup and newspapers

All I could think of is your bra-ed body capturing the sunspots and shadows of our 3rd story apartment balcony

[traffic sounds included]

Coming home to your thick anxious lips greeting me, propping yourself on the stovetop as I hung my hat, then following your recipe

Who knew such intimacy was possible or even probable for a cynic like me

Something of movies or myths mothers tell their daughters to wait for

Because they had it once

For a split end second

Drunk on our past

I am drinking just to fuck you now

I love you

Only tamely now

Joshua Tool – 09/30/11


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