Monday, April 8, 2013

Day Approves of the Choices I Make (8/30)

Childless on a heavy night means whiskey again
and a perfect waist.

Here's what I'm thinking:
it means a few holy promises:

One. to fuck like run-wild
Two. to sleep like paper next to jesus.
Three. to taste your smoke-heavy lips.
Four. to praise cotton for laying on my tits like light breath.
Five: to give you birds, like fire from flint.
Six: to stand on books and sing under low light.

So on and so on until the day settles down inside my room
under the covers,
slathering itself on my thighs.

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