I wake up to the long whisper of morning
the beet-red smell of throbbing,
stops the birds from singing
stops her from spinning, now
cross-legged I,
I wear another small-dress
representing our pressed thighs,
reminding me
of October again, but it's
Thursday &
darling I cannot go back there today.
I need coffee; more pros and another blanket to
wake my pride.
I need to **** out the Orchid
lounging on my tongue after I've
watered your name