After a lark
with a stranger
it grows earthy in the room
and our bodies stretch out
Rich tones, dew shine, a draft
dries the sweat
Outside,
a day laborer hammers the
brownstone across the street
It wakes us up
unexpectedly
and I can’t help but think
there is somewhere
and someone
I was supposed to be
"You fool,” she laughs
“Those men don’t have enough money to be someone else”
It is quiet in the room
It has become so cold that I try to feign sleep
so I don’t have to
deal with
waking up in the afternoon
