And In The Morning We Can Pretend That Last Night Didn’t Happen


Perhaps it’s nauseating
To embrace
When I am impartial-

When she manifests conjecture
At 3am-
Appealing to rotten tissue,
Folding our bodies
Like cowardly blinks.

But she’ll be lonely again.

I might seizure
Inside a hug. Impulses
Tend to disgrace
Whatever reactions
I think are worth discussing-
Fuck me. When beer drools
From puckered lips
Because we can’t converse
Before midnight
Or show affection
Or remember each other’s names.

We disguise maturity
By cloaking perversion
Like a seductive wink
Momentarily concealing
A glass eye-
Distorting the pupil
Staring back.

Reminding ourselves
That everything human
Should remain unseen.

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