Breakfast

The sun is a bastard.

Awake in your bed

With your back to me,

I feel sensitive to your indifference,

So I withdraw into thought.

 

Is it odd that I want to

Share a tooth brush, or

Drink out of your cup?

I want a woman that doubles as a fork.

 

I suppose it is time for me to leave.

But your hair may disagree,

As It reaches out toward me,

More of you that I’d like to eat.

I know I must go, but you,

So perfect in form, sweet sounds,

Far off in dream, no doubt,

Far away from me.

If only I understood women.

 

I’m of a cannibalistic persuasion.

 

These lovely shape-shifters sleep

While I tip toe through the house,

A cat burglar,

stealing little sweet respirations,

In search of the bathroom.

A dollop of toothpaste

On the chewed index finger

Of a man who just wants it to feel right.

I brush you away,

But I wanted it to be different,

Blast the morning,

I’m sorry if I manufactured this distance.

 

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