Form: Poem
Written: Spring 2012

Those mornings you wake up emotionally          hung over,
the taste your                slurred suggestion:
Let’s just be friends
still bitter on your tongue. As if he should have taken you                 seriously
thru a text message: U’s & SRY’s abbreviated.
Your thoughts,              not so abbreviated,                but as twisted as you,
waking up in your bed, wishing it were his,
with your clothes not quite             on correctly, arm holes
reaching back to your backbone, jean buttons not aligned
with your belly button. Your hair                        plastered
to your face, damp, wiry, pungent.
Your hands shaking,                  curled, already
waiting for a bottle of something
sour                  to reach your fingers, your mouth.

Categories: Poetry

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