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“Unintended Hookup #1”

February 5, 2012

I cannot go on
without that sock.
Lost somewhere riddled
among a bed’s looseness,
the wreck of us fucking.
Threadworn, it complains
of alacrity as a mercy

sucking dust
with the bunnies –
hidden in a mutt’s dander
and educing desperation
as if it were stink.
It will have a hole
left now from saying
‘I want to come home.

If you hear this
and are interested,
let me know
what I was wearing
(or what wore me),’
and if the taste of ass
coupled with hibachi
returns my calls.

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