Weekend.
she caresses the parts of my insides
that i need touched
it's a hunger that matches my outside yearn
with ferocity and teeth
but
the windows don't know better-
they reveal a dusty strained light
or a cold lack of.
it leaves me queasy
there's no good season of the day
when it's passing.
everything gets tan and medical white
when the vacation's almost over
i go home bleary eyed sullen with:
dirty socks, upset stomach
three cigarettes, ten dollars
worn underwear and receipts.
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