Saturday
Mar072015

Pretty Spider

Shenandoah Sowash


 

A final moan. One last slap.
I float from the bed wearing nothing
but jeweled pins in my hair.

Your mouth rank with sleep,
snores like another’s.
Even the window wonders.

It’s morning. On the porch your baldness
shines. Booze is a language.

We sit on stools
blanker than new
museums.

I’m as much your lover
as a mosquito is your lover.