Thursday, May 15, 2003

white crisp linen
red soft roses
petals, leaves and
tracing the coffee stain
with my pinky

face buried in the pillow slip
the scent of your superiority
reminds me
man can stand on the moon
but he can't stand
being second

the coffee stains contained
by the pleat in the linen
my sighs contained
by the pressure
of your stare

smile, pretend
deny or believe
the thought's still there
the moment's passed
but the words
seared across the mind
like the black chargrill welts
on a flame grilled burger
and I knew
they'd repeat
like coleslaw

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