Mornings After & Coffee Drunk

 

You bite me there, and

many open mouths come;

I blow you out, so close,

just the fourth, the fourth time

I’ve slept with you,

In as many months; I can’t remember now

 

You would never; hope I didn’t make

Too much of those times, but I yearn,

So deep in the hours we spent,

Away in bedrooms and slips;

I hope

 

The sensitive parts are more

Than just under our clothes;

The return drive home

was never—

I didn’t feel well; she wouldn’t know

 

She stayed home warm but left pieces of me

There on her hips, didn’t wash;

the torn earlobes,

Bleeding all over, out of you,

Out of the covers of the bed where I mix,

Into mornings after and coffee drunk,

 

Dusted-off lovers—the marked ones;

I can’t make sense of the ground,

Below things shift and

 

The night has chilled the air, love,

Made fog of my breath; and the

Window’s down, drying air,

Making that which is wet on me

As dry as the side of the road,

And just as cold as our death,

Placed ceremoniously,

at the foot of your soiled bed.

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