bereft, upon waking, i smell cigarettes (nowhere near; in my head) and i want a smoke. i want a taste. it’s wrong. bad. your taste on my lips, worse. i am not addicted to you, nor can i blame you on an invisible want. your elbow peeks, obscene, from under pilled comforter.
why is it we have fallen into this bed, this way of life, this manner of speaking, this dark, this depth, this horrible lie, this beautiful horrible lie, this only way i want to lie, this dark, this bring me you lie, this bring me your heart but really your neck and belly lie, this depth.
bereft, upon waking, i remember what it is about you that lingers, slithers on lip and tongue:
sunlight. you taste like pure day.