parenthetical (parenthetical) wrote in pillow_book, @ 2007-10-28 10:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | not a goddamn poem, pillow book |
(On the back of a whiskey label painstakingly peeled off the bottle.)
Some days I hate this
Fucking job. Want to sleep and
Never wake up. Christ.
You pass the aspirin
And the whiskey. Sit close, legs
Brushing against mine.
For once you don't try
To make me talk - just hold out
Your hand for a drink.
We pass the bottle
Back and forth. Eventually
I lie down, still dressed.
You press close behind
Me, warm and real; whisper your
First word in hours: "Dean."