two bottles empty
sitting on a faux-wood nightstand
as two breaths draw
deeply
it's not the beer -
a thick Irish stout
like a blanket on our throats
it's the day
that grazes our eyes
with slumber
and what is it
that entangles our limbs
one
under
another?
perhaps the beer
(almost as thick as our limbs together)
but something much
thicker
is what i think
No comments:
Post a Comment