POEMS
YOur bed is a
time machine
Your bed
is a time machine
a trail of
cigarettes
and tequila
leads me to
the recessed pillow
on the right side
and the covers folded over
I get in
and am entombed in
the relics of your
presence
the scent
of strawberry
shampoo
and I am at once
horrified as well as
still
yearning
and pass out
until the black
cat wakes me
in the early hours of the
morning
before daylight
My bed is a library
is a time machine
a trail of
cigarettes
and tequila
leads me to
the recessed pillow
on the right side
and the covers folded over
I get in
and am entombed in
the relics of your
presence
the scent
of strawberry
shampoo
and I am at once
horrified as well as
still
yearning
and pass out
until the black
cat wakes me
in the early hours of the
morning
before daylight
My bed is a library