not sleeping anymore

the end of the day

I wait for the day to end so I can leave here and return earlier again,
tomorrow. Borrowed phrases get me through simple movements of the day, when hello and goodbye are the only original things I have to say.
outside, the black branches against the white sky are the backdrop for my olan mills,

and even if changing scenery was that easy, I wouldn’t pull the loop attached to the stills to bring me closer to you.

I walk to the elevator that takes me down, then climb stairs to reach the ground, floor. I end where I begin, right there where you and I have been, many times before. Waiting for the engine to turn my car from cold to warm and this song plays while I’m thinking about making love to you. Sometimes when I turn the corner I think I see you shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

tell me that you want me to slow down. My glasses have fogged from the heat of my nose beneath.


I talk to you now as if you are dead, the ghost sitting at the foot of my bed listening to the end of my day when I’m taking off my socks and rubbing my feet..

posted by d @ 2:17 PM