Eighty-six: The Bare Minimum

I’ve got clouds, the daughters of sunshine,
lying in my lap and then I see you in
two dimensions, keeping your distance,
while I, dirty and withdrawn, find it
too easy to look away with no hands
to pull my face forward. For a moment
I think I can spit those words onto the
screen but then they lose their grip and
fall, word by dirty word, behind the
steel shield of pride. Every woman says,
I am not like other women but perhaps
I should be delighted to join the hordes
of  whores who aren’t ashamed to want
more than the bare minimum.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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