the grease of time
smell of latex, dirty underwear, and feet
grabs an my nose hairs.
he groans and rolls away from me.
I glance (for a moment) at his neoned silhouette.
stand up--
grope in unfamilar dark for soggy panties.
I find his t-shirt
and put it on instead.
i fall asleep
wake up to rustling
the lamp glow filmed by dust
and the grease of time
"Oh. There's my undershirt," he says.
"Do you want it back?"
"No keep it. It probably smells like you anyway."
bends over to tie his Nikes with a
stabbing glare from the gold band on his left hand
illuminated by the light filtered through the aging
lampshade and flickering bulb
after his headlights fade down the deserted street
I try to inhale the remainder of his scent
but only smell sterile hotel sheets
1 comment:
why is it that it's male adultorers that are depicted as having their affairs in sleezy motels and not female adultorers.
Post a Comment