1709: Slap-faced

You bent to sleep – again
drunk? Lipstick is slipped

Do not wake – not to me –
not to my modest veered
dream at daybreak’s kiss

You rang stored numbers
I will answer [to my own]

He’s long-divorced – hope
snatched by a cock & bull
story of whatever fits you

[not his 3 kids with issues
as your mother points out]

As your mist-breath-of-gin
cools [& sleep evaporates]
you rise drought-mouthed

unable to repair loose truth
[lost by your mounting lies]

I can see his fingered grips
in spotted sooty bruises on
you – your evident hangover


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