it’s 3 in the morning…
sweating like it’s 3 in the afternoon…
my belly aches…
a soul doing flip-flops…
the heart is sore…

we used to lay in comfort…
air-conditioned condtioning…
nothing was wet…
no smells…
suburban fantasy…

and no gunshots were heard…
voices in the dark didn’t exist…
just streetlights on a culdesac…
a BigWheel left out on a driveway…
the hums of cooling units…

you were hardly naked…
XXX tee-shirts covered you…
People magazine on a nightstand…
you never read my poems…
said they made you think too much…

perhaps that was my downfall…
maybe i should’ve given-up the pen…
but then truth would’ve never been found…
the honesty of laying naked…
daggers that go through us…

it’s 3 in the morning…
sweating like it’s 3 in the afternoon…
my belly aches…
a soul doing flip-flops…
the heart is sore…

and i am at peace…