The Residue of Saturday Nights

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  • Angst

    The Residue of Saturday Nights

    It’s that Monday morning of shadows
    You know, the kind that weighs you down
    Pulls you down to sheets stained with sweat
    Caress that vest only he’d buy
    Like a blanket from your old crib
    My old fling’s too scared to say hello
    Stares below my neck
    Taste of a stranger’s tongue
    Mouth dry and waiting…
    Painted bitches in the cafeteria
    Glance away to boyfriends
    An empty seat faces you
    Legal Seafood dates
    Fail to fulfill

    One more virgin tablecloth…

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    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

    AmberDawn’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    A New Morning 0
    American Dreams 0
    Future Man and Wife 0
    The Residue of Saturday Nights 0