I laid there staring
at the ceiling fan spinning,
grinning about the night before
& thinking
what happens
in L.A.,
stays in L.A.
**** skippy.

I could barely see
through my red,
tasted my Marlboros
like they were liquid,
felt lost in an illusion.

I tried to whistle Dixie
& forget about
the pretty sleeping
pixie
lying next to me,
buck naked
& snoring like a buffalo.

But how could I?
She drove a Mazda
with Andretti-skill
& cooked a mean plate
of spaghetti.

Her lips were Mona Lisa
smirky & she made me crazy
with moves she's said she learned
from reading ****** poetry.

I loved the fact
she loved fine art
& traced her constellations
with my kisses
until she awoke
& loved me again
sinfully.