The Wrong Side of Saturday Morning

 

Here we are. Again.

With tangled sheets and hearts and thoughts

Too lazy to sleep, too tired to try

Viewing this sunrise from the wrong side

Again.

We danced, back to the wall, back to the bed

A dangerous chance meeting

And you grab your jeans, glance through the glass

Viewing the dawn through a toxic flurry of cigarette ash

Your exhale sending smoke signals to no in particular

Begging for forgiveness or help, I wouldn’t doubt

The wrong side of Saturday morning

It’s somehow different. Unclean.

Both of us, the sin and thrill of it weighing us

Unevenly balancing us

You say "see ya" and it sounds like a miserable prospect

I don’t want to see you.

Disappear.

Leave me mourning my Saturday morning

Again

Reviews

[Forest Green]

Unique...that scarcely describes the reality of your poem. True to life, honest from start to finish. One might generate a movie idea from this, or a short story, or dispense with a memory...your options are wide open when you have such realism in your writing.

Excellent work!

Unequal? It doesn't apply to me...;)

Daniel