One hot night in June

emptied my pockets
quivering on your doorstep:
nothing but staled exhales,
old hand-holdings,
some smiles scattered
heedlessly on the
old oak plank.

urged to shake off the remnants
of a used-to-be you:
that pore threading
fingers trembling
lips dripping
late night call.

I leave you dreaming
in the warmth of her bed,
I’ve been a Fortune’s Fool
one too many times.

june, 2012


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