Give me some semblance of understanding
on this nicotene tinged morning
help me muster the guts
it takes to spark conversation.
No longer naked, yet newly a stranger
eyes dart from ashtray, to window,
to saltshaker
avoiding the contact of my gaze.
I serve you a cup of coffee from across the table
you dabble with the spoon, add more sugar
avoiding the awkward talking
sparking another cigarette & shaking
out your match.
Last night we spoke in tongues
I learned your word for release
& I let it drip there, still warm.
You talked so much my head grew heavy
now a mere good morning
seems to make you demure
You were'nt so shy by the time "Wild horses"
was playing
your bra unlatched
a hand in your panties, diving for pearls.
I guess sometimes in the cold harsh light
of a hungover day
there is never really anything to say.
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I'm open to feedback, but remember this is a diary. Most of these posts are first drafts and as such are unedited. Editing & revising my posts would negate the purpose of this blog for me. Thanks.