Morningtime Sentiment

I hear curses down the alley from
the bar,
"Fuck... shit, fuck... shit!"
while I smoke a
spliff, listening to
the rhythm of a
dripping drain.

It's Thursday night, and for some reason, I'm
alone, not that I'm
necessarily  complaining,
 I enjoy a late night situation,
or an early morning sunrise.

But I usually sleep
tilll noon, and wake
to a cup of french pressed
coffee ground too
thinking of the girl from
the night before,
inviting you into her
taking off her shirt and

I held her for a while,
pretending not to
be aroused, until I started
to rub her back,
     at first,
  then slowly
    and rougher,
till I felt her
body, squirming
with the rhythm of
my hand.

She turned and
    kissed me,
"This is it" I thought,
  "estoy aqui."

But she seems mildly hesitant, why?
She's gotta sleep for some BS class at noon?
She's actually tired?
Her period maybe?
A scared prairie dog escaping
to its home?

Her amazing body moving
at the touch of my hand,
and her breathing beat;
in, beat, out, beat, in,
soft skin in rhythm
with the fingertips.

My eyes go dry, and I fall
asleep, holding a lost puppy
in its own bed, tossing,
uncomfortable, turning,
stiff back, adjust, dead arm,
roll over.

Awkward sleep,
            no sleep,
   awkward morning,
she cleans, I pick up my
pack, filling my pockets,
put on a fresh
         New day,
          new me,
   awkward morning
        strange car,
     awkward drive,
    new conversation,
        new music,
      new goodbye.

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