Going Again

It’s really just stardust
Clouds in my stevia-sweetened coffee The grinds rinding between my morals- molars Staining my teeth like my tobacco fingertips So the smell lingers when I raise spoon to lip Sentada aquí otra vez

It’s just stardust I’ll recall in salt and pepper static
When I’m no longer seventeen and I don’t bother to shave
I’ll grapple for grainy photographs
Fumble- no it went like this
No I don’t care, I don’t, I write this story, I do, I do
I’ll write wintry winds, now San Francisco
Tugging at my tresses, tangling, fingering
Me in the leather backseat, beats pressing my chest livelong street song The black man with a boombox kneels outside the station
Dirty, peach cream doorway, drooling
Surely he’s high as fuck so I bum a cig
And now we wait together silent, humdrum
Still station still
Enumerating the escapades, licking stars from the blue sky
I write the people I’ve known, the ever-present and the past

Puke AM with pretty wasted women
Charred faces, scalding mascara rivers
Killing, fisting the mirror, repeating, this isn’t me, isn’t me, isn’t me. So pissed, stumble drunk like stones sinking in sex syrup
And pump up their bras to feel happy again

I write cheery Sunday, simmering shit on the stove Happy-go-lucky, buttery walls bathed in morning glory Lovely, sweet, innocent, naked, raw
If my mother knew
But we’re really just stardust
So I won’t tell but I’ll remember
Poppy sleepy no shut eye, the sumptuous skin
Of your cheek so soft now and the rosy pads
Of your feet that beckon me as I leave.

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