Wide awake rushes up my vocal cords

Nothing is so bashful nor sweet to tongues

Make my very eyelids whisper “Oh Lord”

And fall on their kneecaps burn out their lungs.

A Morning breath armchair sipping coffee breath

Red lips punch the mug right in the kisser

Of all the Mahogany nothing’s left

Hemingway spoken floats like a whisker.

I slam the window in Bossanova,

And the armchair appears- smiles a bullseye,

I printed your face without ink toner,

Into an old crossword unmemorized.

Slept like cocoons that anxiety’d worn,

Stomach full of butterflies- your front porch.