quicksand

waking up in a puddle of lasts nights dreams with tight temples and a colon full of

I love you

a unique smell between your legs and under your arms, the torrential rains of your upstairs neighbor’s shower, the ticking of your wife’s watch

Good morning.

hard nipples and eyelids and
the creak of your back as you rise

to sitting Why today?

if the first hour of the day sets the stage for everything to come

like the intro to a novel
then today will be much the same

as yesterday

stiff and sticky
and inevitable
like a tree branch sinking in quicksand