nearly thirty-five
fit-filled and restless sleep.
dreams of red dress betrayal
and beating that man insensible
with old, hard wood
and running, screaming lies
into the song of summer’s last night.
then waking with arms
dead as frank sinatra
while feeling marches cold
down my limbs
like death.
this was rescued from one of my old sites. I completely forgot writing it around 19 months ago.
