happy hour is over

pictured you together:
dancing. making fun
of everyone else
but yourselves.

am certain you're
pumped drunk:

from cappuccinos
to vinos
w/ some cocktails
in betweenos.

laughing at everything
but me.

always too long

12 hours of fighting.

you always have the last word!

12 hours of cleaning.

you always leave before work!

12 hours of frustration.

you always watch that freakin tv!

12 hours of teeth grinding.

how is your jaw not sore?

with benefits

nicotine. sweet cologne.
the morning masculine.

soft, curves spoon
his full, brittle chest.


quick double. shot water.
no sugar. some cream.

three legged beast,
upon siren's single breast.

Austria, perhaps

so many bridges
over magical,
ancient waters.

(you're hot.
bare chested.
hairier than remembered.)

(that must've been
way before puberty.
and passports.)

those bridges,
they're gorgeous.
like, way before us.

that gurgley feeling....

is it something I said?
or something I ate?

or something I did
that's truly great?


is it something I live?
or that I deny?

or something from far,
beyond the sky?

in the middle

was folding blankets.
atop a random, bottom bunk.

twin sized.

never knew you were there.
yet, seemed to have woken you.

left. with blankets.

came back and you were asleep,
naked, on a queen, on the floor.

tangled in sheets and thin down.

eyes meet.
a silent invitation to join you.

if only the start was from there.

as in now, as in haiku

rev of a moto,
scrape of my tongue against time,
dark inspires light.