Saturday, January 26, 2013

Half-dozen morning

It's a familiar concoction of sensations
Being jerked from sleep far too early
Shrugging on clothes with abandon
Ignoring the rumples and tousle of hair
Then climbing behind a familiar wheel

When we part it's only for a weekend
Still, amidst the cloud of impatient taxis
and the dying breath of many cigarettes
We are declarations of love and quick kisses
Thankful for the luxury of a private ride

She goes on to the home of her mother
And I, sheet-creases still pressed into skin
Breathing the sweet clammy stink of jet fuel
Succumb to the temptation of ritual:
One coffee and six American donuts.

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