Cigarette mouth tastes like trash & burn
She always knew how to kiss me wrong
Too tight t-shirt & bobbed hair
Fumbling in the moonlight for that tremendous bra strap
Held in thunder, her “best asset”
Breaking the wood & bleeding out
The sound used to runaway & hide
I’d put on Sinatra as you lay your jangly purse
By the endtable not on the endtable
St. Pauli’s girl & designer sunglasses tin
We used contraceptives, put Orange Gatorade by the bed
Ate appetizers, cheered our enemies on
Exchanged only four digits of our phone numbers
Talked late into the night unconvincingly.
© Adam Bresson
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