The sound of declarations,
proclamation, at dawn
scent of coffee on my tongue,
red-faced, shouting about Calvin,
But I'm thinking of Hobbes,
and the way of gentle holds
June moons and inappropriate songs,
sleeping in the back pew,
She said she knew you,
and my stomach froze,
on the night of a June moon,
her arms and her neck
and your lips all over that,
I buried my head in the sand
on the Carolina coast,
All have sinned and lost
I use vodka shots
to erase the pictures
of her hot breath and pretty nose
and your caresses,
most of those.
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