Old Standby

I’m making a list to worry out lines about you

and the old standbys still apply.

Nothing much to assume from that. That I’ll never hear from you?

Sure, so I worry the wood of bars with shadows

and brooding music, soothe muscles of throat, harbor my heart

for a night—all I needed from you—for now—was that:

A wallow in wet napkins and comebacks of heartsick lisps, kicked

to covet words and her as things I will never mouth again.

Nothing much to assume, really,

as the old standbys always apply

and, sure, I count on that.

 

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