I’m lying in this motel room

watching his back rise and fall
scent of crème brûlée from eight p.m.
and the lilacs bordering the parking lot
staring at his freckles like stars
mentally forming them into constellations
the mind a cemetery of the forgotten
the day a grassy knoll
reaching for skin and warmth
the freckles form a locked cage

3 thoughts on “I’m lying in this motel room

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