From When I Lived On Cooke Street, by pd lyons


From When I Lived On Cooke Street

we piled in the pile of old pillows
cornered by a milk crate lamp
ashtray spilling
a line of empty Carlo Rossi bottles against the wall
every trip to the toilet cursed for distance
every need for food cursed for needing to stop
one stretch into the other
one reach deeper than the last
one mouthful after the other
our bodies a graffiti of slick scented love

 

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