A sore neck, an empty wallet,
Stains of dubious origin—
A good time was had, and yet
Emptiness remains, lurking
In the milliseconds between
Memory and embarrassment.
With coffee, reality returns,
And the longing for a cigarette
Still, after 20 smokeless years.
You stub that dull urge out
On the blunt edge of your love,
This desire that feeds, keeps you.
Mornings have always chafed—
As a child you hid your head
Under the covers of your bed
And waited for the daylight
To settle in around you,
The way it’s still settling.
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