Monday, November 26, 2007

It’s time to go home. . .

It’s cold and late and you’re drunk
You’ve insisted on taking me home
Although I’ve helped you down a dark
sidewalk. You smell like booze, cigarettes,
and lost dreams.
“Loser. It smells like a Man.”
Your eyes are half lidded your hand
has copped its complimentary feel.
It’s time to go home

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