I saw you
looking preppy as fuck
down by the ore dock
last saturday night

like the cotton ball that rests
on top of a motrin bottle
that you finger past
with shaking hands

making eyes behind wayfarers
at some bitch backed up
against the brick wall
downwind of the dumpster

a cushion against
the rattle of reality
shaking loosely
at the bottom

your tan leather jacket
unzipped over white
cotton blend hanes,

bleached smile flashing
blessed relief
in 500 milligram doses.

I want to chew you up,
saturate you with saliva,
lodge you against
the rooftop of my mouth,
feel your fibers wedged
between my teeth,
and spit you out

right back in your


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