Sweater Off

Sweater off… lost… kiss on the cheek. She’s my woebegone… peon. Half jotted down poem moan.

Put bleach in with the whites… the laundry piles up. I go through your little secrets like a man with nothing to do. Because I have nothing to do.

We meet halfway through our lives. On the staircase. Passing bleach back and forth.

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