Monday Mornings

You reminded me of a Monday morning cigarette break.

That between awake and asleep

Feeling,

Wishing

the day away,

With my rolled-up heart

Charred around the edges

lusting

for the blackness

That came with your presence.

Your kiss with its darkness

And your charcoal throat

The same warmth

that arrived with a raspy inhalation

of smoke through nose to chest,

My tar lungs and cigarette breath.

Burnt out amber

Of orange and black

Sparks against pavement,

The miniature fireworks

Under my fake Laboutin shoe.

You were my

Narcotic, Insomniac Addiction

Darling, Come Monday morning,

I thought of you.

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Folded

“Am I still your favourite person?”

I asked, eyes wide,

Arms wrapped behind my back like folded

Linen laundry,

Egyptian cotton.

Can you unfold me and

tug at the frayed  edges until we forget they existed,

Kiss me clean.

“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,

Or just forgotten

dirty

laundry.