I wish.
That I was the words
in the back of your mouth.
Trembling on your tongue,
and shaking your teeth.
I wish I was the syllables,
that ring out like a dusty phone.
Kicking you out of an afternoon dream.
"Hello? Hello?"
Must have been a wrong number.
It must have been love,
I just don't buy in so easily,
especially when I see you phoning it in.
This isn't something you order.
No delivery boy, No tips
of 15% percent.
I'm so much more than just a whim.
At least that's what I'll think,
when I toss my head
to' and fro' on my deluxe
goose-down pillow.
Your head rested there once.
A cavalcade of make-up stains,
remain.
Rubbed into the fabric
reminding me of the
life you chose.
She is my lover,
my dime-store affair.
The girl with child-bearing hips.
She has no sympathy,
nor the softest lips.
|
Submission Name: 15% on the Bill.
