“...in hindsight”
your hair, when you rolled over this morning,
still smelled of smoke
from last night’s bonfire.
it reminded me of marshmallows,
which is all i could think about
while we made love,
which is ok, because i like marshmallows.
but now that you’re downstairs
making the coffee,
i wonder, as i write this,
how you’re going to react when you read
of me...
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“yep...”
the leaves smell like cheap rum
and conjure images of that
waitress in the skimpy shorts
which is completely unfair
to that waitress, her skimpy shorts,
and cheap rum everywhere
but i’m not sorry because life is unfair
and waitresses who wear skimpy shorts
in the presence of dirty old men
are bound to become the subjects
of sub-par poetic ramblings
after a good...
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