I’m right of two brown bottles wearing your first initial in cursive. There are America-colored cans in the trunk, a redhead lawyering his father. Parents in your bed isn’t a metaphor – it’s a next like another as in day.
You Get To Know Me
Trash cans Latin microwaves— sex is over us. There’s no Tuscaloosa in a second egg roll. I’m one-legged in a slant; you’re honoring basics.
More poetry at Used Furniture.